


Challenge Three: Non-Human Characters

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:09:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 102,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for Challenge Three: Non-Human Characters for summerpornathon 2012</p><p>Voting post can be found <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/80918.html">here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (with warnings)

**01**

_**Warnings:** voyeurism, middle-of-the-night-have-a-wank-so-I-can-sleep trope_

Merlin heaved a sigh, his wings fluttering and shifting. When the higher-ups had decided to give him his first assignment he’d expected it to be a lot more _exciting_. But so far the only interesting thing he’d had to do so far was stop a bowl from smashing in the blond prat’s head.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. And not only was it a boring job, but now it was also a full-time job. Sure Merlin didn’t really need the sleep—Guardian Angel and all that—but it still got under his skin that he’d have to spend every single moment watching over Arthur.

 _Then again_ , Merlin mused as he watched Arthur groan and flip onto his side, dragging the sheet with him and exposing his bare chest and a hint of naked hip. _Night watch duty isn’t so bad if I get to see that every night._

In the dark Merlin could see the glint of moonlight reflecting off of Arthur’s eyes. The poor bloke had been having a hard time getting to sleep the past few days. If Merlin didn’t know better he’d say all Arthur needed was a shag. But he’d been around to witness that _that_ was certainly not the case. Arthur Pendragon got more tail than Merlin’s sister did. And Morgana was a fucking succubus! Puzzle that one out.

This time it was Arthur who let out a sigh, pushing away his sheets and sitting up. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Merlin’s lips pursed, wondering if it was to be the telly or the treadmill tonight. Treadmill was the more dangerous; then he’d actually have to _watch_ him to make sure the clod wouldn’t brain himself or break a toe or something.

Turned out, it was neither. Tonight Arthur headed straight for the bathroom and into the shower. Merlin let out a groan. He’d even take the stupid exercise machine over this. At least then Arthur would have some clothing on. But no, shower it was, and Arthur—glorious naked Arthur—stepped into the warm spray and immediately went to rubbing suds over himself. Merlin slowly squeezed himself through the small doorway, trying to fold his wings in as close as they could, but the cumbersome things liked to be difficult on the best day. Finally Merlin stumbled into the steamy room and with a huff settled himself on the counter. Then he made the mistake of looking at Arthur.

Arthur had finished his actual washing and had moved on to _other_ pursuits. Merlin twitched as he saw Arthur’s big hand sliding up and down his quickly hardening dick. Arthur breathed out, body already relaxing as he kept a steady pace. Up and down and up and a twist over the head. Merlin was hypnotized. Strictly speaking a Guardian’s job was to protect and watch over, but give space for certain… activities. Then again, Merlin had always been pants at following rules.

Merlin licked his lips and hopped down from the counter. He stepped up to the shower and pressed one hand to the glass door, eyes fixed on Arthur’s hand stroking up and down. Arthur was breathing heavily, almost panting. Merlin could feel his heart rate picking up. His other hand inched toward the bulge in his trousers. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Guardians couldn’t feel like this for their wards. And yet…

And yet Merlin’s cock was still standing at attention and throbbing with every stroke of Arthur’s hand. Merlin moaned, hand finally coming to rest over the bulge. His wings twitched and tensed, wanting to be touched. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched his wings.

Merlin slipped a hand into his trousers, cupping his hot flesh in his hand, sliding his fingers across the wet head. He moaned just as Arthur gasped out. Merlin focused on Arthur again. Arthur’s hips were jerking forward, fucking into his hand. It didn’t take long before he let out a loud groan and his come was spurting out onto the tile. And, with keening sound in his throat, that was all it took to have Merlin creaming his pants.

Merlin’s head fell forward to rest on the glass as he breathed heavily. It was only when there was a strangled noise that his head jerked up to find bright blue eyes staring right at him. His own eyes widened. In the next moment his wings folded around his body and he disappeared from Arthur’s sight.

* * *

**02**

She comes to him in reflective surfaces: halts him just past a looking glass, not sure if he really saw what he thought; beckons from rainwater pooled under a hang-dog sky; lifts her eyebrow in the curved turn of a tankard under the tavern candle’s quivering light.

Merlin thought he was imagining it, that the girl he saw in the lower town who borrowed the shape of her smile had dredged grief from its usual pocket, but when he gets to his room, in a bowl of water Gaius must have left for him, the flat black gives up her slow grin.

“Merlin,” she says, voice a liquid ripple down his spine. “I’ve missed you.”

Heart rattling as if she’s an army and not a shimmer of a girl, Merlin kneels and touches the basin’s edge. “Freya? Is it really – ?”

Her smile widens, huge, dark eyes glimmering as if stars have fallen into the water.

“Is something wrong? Do you need – ”

“I didn’t come for your magic, Merlin.”

Merlin swallows. “I wish I could – ” His hand hovers over the surface of the water, but at the movement, she undulates. He holds his breath in case it makes her disappear, frowning at his own reflection over her face as the image steadies again.

She meets his eye, and his stomach tightens. “What would you do if you _could_ touch me?”

Hesitating only a second, Merlin brushes his knuckles over his own cheek, smiling – or almost – at the thought of her skin beneath his. “And I’d kiss you. I’d kiss you as if we were going to do it forever.”

“Then what?”

Lips parting in surprise at the teasing, yearning look in her eyes, Merlin clings to the table, aware of the stirring in his britches, that he should be thinking something noble and not about all the things he only ever got to imagine: the taste of her tummy and the way her fingers would twist in his hair as he worked his way over it to fit between her legs.

“It’s all right, Merlin. You can tell me.” Voice a shivery whisper, she shifts in until all he can do is stare at the curve of her hip and imagine it beneath his tongue. “What would you have done on our first night together under the stars?”

Breath harsh enough to bow the water, he murmurs, “Whatever you wanted.”

“Shall I tell you what I imagined?” At his frantic nod, she smiles, shy and wild, making his soul crave and his cock twitch. “You take off your jacket and kick off your boots and dance with me in the grass until we’re breathless and giddy and kissing – exactly as if we’re going to do it forever. You lift up my hair – ” She closes her eyes, hands scrunching up her waves, shivering. “ – and make me prickle all over. You know how that feels?”

Merlin's hand drops down to stroke at his cock where it's heavy against the fabric of his trousers. “Yes.”

Freya runs her fingers down her neck and over the front of her dress. “We get out of our clothes – the grass tickles as we lie down – and you give me a wildflower and look at me as if I’m the most precious thing in the world. And you kiss me. You start at my ankle and work your way up. You lick the back of my knee and I don’t know whether to giggle or beg you to do it again.” She shifts, hitching up her skirt, fingers trailing over her thighs. “And then you put your beautiful mouth here.” Hand slipping between her legs, she bites her lip, head falling back, material moving with the motion of her fingers.

Fumbling for the tie on his trousers, Merlin shoves them down to get at his own skin, imagining the slide of her under his tongue – the hitched noises rising from the water meaning he doesn’t have to reach very far.

“And – ” With a gasp, her head falls back, and Merlin can see the wildflower in her hair and the starlight on her skin, feel the hot pulse of her body against his lips.

He comes, clamping down around his own cock, clenched with the effort of not knocking the bowl.

It doesn’t matter. When he opens his eyes, the water is just water, and ache he pocketed years ago tugs everywhere at once.

* * *

 

**03**

_**Warnings:** slavery/ownership of mythical creatures, dub-con_

Arthur eyed the odd creature with trepidation, its beak gave him the most worry and sadly there went any ideas for oral he might've had. But he had to hand it to Morgana, this...thing. This Merlin (A newly discovered subspecies of phoenixes kept mostly as pets, arm candy, or accessories by the bored rich and famous; a giant leap from the original god-like warriors in history books.) would definitely do. And as far as birthday presents went, she was winning their little war (7-5, but he wasn’t counting).

Arthur circled around the creature, frowning when he realized it stood taller than he did, but he figured it was the weird talons at the end of very human legs, and yeah, he'd definitely have to keep it in the sex swing or file them down. Other than the beak, its head was remarkably human, piercing blue orbs for eyes, a strong forehead, and ears that went on for days. Black down and feathers covered the creature at the oddest places throughout its also humanoid torso and arms and Arthur couldn’t help but poke and prod.

Merlin (Arthur would keep calling it that. With all the blood rushing to his cock, he wasn’t feeling very creative.) made a squawk-like noise that sounded quite a bit like "Prat" narrowing its eyes at Arthur, judging him. It crossed its arms and closed its wings around itself, but Arthur paid it no mind moving the feathers of the giant wings on its back now, to get a good look at what he’d been given to work with.

And yes. Definitely acceptable.

Arthur smacked the pert little bottom, revelling in the echo of the sound in the empty loft he'd bought just for the purpose of his meetings with the creature.

"Gonna fuck you, Merlin." He told the creature plainly, never one to beat around the bush (he preferred them shaved, thank you) and led it to the giant bed. It was- the only piece of furniture in the entire flat, stationed in the corner by the wall, where he'd already fastened some restraints. (It wouldn't do for him, a giant celebrity movie star, to show up in public with scratches.)

Merlin turned its head and looked back at him as Arthur pushed it forward, snapping its beak and shuffling its feathers, making them stand up, attempting to look threatening. Arthur laughed, the only thing it looked like was what Arthur was about to put his dick into.

And, once he strapped Merlin safely in, facing up, black wings spread out beneath him (definitely him, if the half-hard cock against his stomach was anything to go by) like the night sky or something, they stopped thrashing. Merlin just stared up at Arthur, the clear hatred from before turning now to mild annoyance, the loud screeches kind of like purrs only bird-like as Arthur petted the wings.

When he felt Merlin was sufficiently subdued he felt his way through the soft, downy feathers between his legs, like fuzz, really, only more, until his fingers touched something wet and sticky. He pulled them back to look at them and saw a clear fluid. Merlin turned his head away, embarrassed.

 _Fuck._ Morgana didn't mention self-lubrication. What a lovely surprise.

Without further ado, Arthur pumped himself a couple of times, rubbed his cockhead teasingly among the soft, wet fuzz before sliding all the way home. The heat surrounding his dick was tight, but not unbearably so. Pleasant, in fact. Especially with the way the downy feathers tickled Arthur’s thighs with each push in and out.

It felt too good for Arthur to prolong it, and since he’d get to fuck Merlin whenever he wanted, he didn’t. So he kept fucking into him with increasing speed and strength as sudden keening chirps escaping Merlin’s beak spurred him on.

It was then that Arthur noticed that Merlin was totally erect. His cock doubled in size as it hardened, reminding Arthur of a tripod. Arthur stared at it, and though he'd never sucked cock before, he thought (ironically, since he was fucking a phoenix-creature) 'You only live once,’ and bent his head to lick experimentally. Merlin tried thrusting up as much as the restraints allowed and Arthur thought he heard “Yes” and “Please” so he sucked it like a lollipop.

Arthur continued sucking and thrusting until he felt hot liquid spurting in his mouth. It tasted like French vanilla. Arthur came.

* * *

 

**04**

Captain Arthur Pendragon of the Federation starship Albion was having a bad day. Bad enough that most of his away team had been killed by the surprisingly hostile predominant species on the planet. Bad enough that his Chief Medical Officer Gaius, had declared the survivors on the team couldn’t return to the ship until medical and engineering figured out how to filter the parasites they’d picked up out of their blood via the transporters, lest they infect the whole ship. No he also had to discover that his half-human, half-Vulcan first officer was actually _entirely_ Romulan. Although he supposed it did explain why the Commander’s adherence to logic always seemed constructed for maximum annoyance, and that felt like flirting. It stung thinking about how easily he’d been manipulated.

“So _Merlin_ , I suppose this means your mother didn’t name you after a human legend due to her love of your father’s stories. Who are you really, Commander?” Arthur tried to keep his tone neutral, but from the _Romulan’s_ wince, he must have failed.

“Our family name is M’rys, my mother wanted to be sure I never forgot who we used to be. I’ve been Merlin as long as I can remember though.” He sighed and slid down the wall of the abandoned building they’d hidden out in. The man looked close to tears and Arthur was torn between pity for the pain Merlin was obviously feeling, and revulsion at the blatant display of emotion acting as a reminder of his lies.

“My father was the commander of the Warbird Kilgarrah, he was reported killed in a classified mission, a few months before the destruction of Vulcan. My mother heard a rumor that he was assassinated by a rival, and that we were in danger, so she appealed to an acquaintance of hers in the Vulcan High Council for asylum. We were on our way to Vulcan on a ship with a forged signature when Nero attacked. After that she just pretended we were refugees, and we came to Earth. I grew up there. Earth is the only home I have.”

“I suppose Dr. Gaius is your mother’s friend from the council then, since he isn’t here to defend himself against accusations of treason, but…” He didn’t get to finish that sentence, without even noticing him move, Merlin had gained his feet and pinned Arthur to the wall and had his arm pressed against Arthur’s throat. 

“Do not bring Gaius into this,” he snarled. Merlin was pressed against him, eyes wild with rage, skin flushed green, and Arthur had never seen anything so beautiful. Then he cursed his errant dick for its interest. There was a moment where he could feel Merlin growing hard against him as well, before his eyes widened in alarm and Merlin pushed away.

“Sir, I’m..., I didn’t mean..., I’m loyal to you Captain,” he dropped to his knees as all the fight went out of him.

“To me or to the Federation?” Arthur stepped closer to him. Merlin looked up and at him as if the question itself was insane, and Arthur felt his breath catch as he realized that for Merlin loyalty to Arthur was the same thing as loyalty to the Federation.  
“Sir,” he said, bowing his head, “I know my people aren’t friends to the Federation, but I only lied because it was the only way to survive. I know that I’ll have to be court martialed, but please, let me help you get back to the Albion.”

Arthur watched the fine tremors of his shoulders until he couldn’t take it anymore and dropped down to kneel next to Merlin. “Commander, we have a five year mission to complete, you’re not getting out of it that easily.”

Again, Merlin moved faster then Arthur could see, and he found himself with his back against the wall once more, and a lap full of first officer. “I won’t disappoint you Captain.”

Arthur inhaled sharply at the realization they were both still hard, and he decided that if he was flagrantly disregarding regulations, one more wouldn’t hurt. He grabbed Merlin’s face to hold him still for a kiss.

As if a switch had been thrown, Merlin’s hands were all over him. He acted like he was trying to fuse bodily with Arthur, grinding their hips together and trying to get his hands under Arthur’s uniform. Arthur’s orgasm shocked him, he’d not come in his pants since he was a teenager.

* * *

 

**05**

Batman, meet Mr. tentacle

 

The Bat Signal blazed in the sky. “Sir?” Giaus said his eyebrows doing a dance of concern.

“Don’t wait up.” Arthur growled as he slid into the Batmobile.

\--

Arthur had a lot of faith in the suit that Gwen built him and all the gadgets she’d managed to fit into the ridiculously tight lines of his trousers. He was Camelot’s defender, her knight. _Yet._

Arthur wasn’t sure what to do about this.

The object had fallen from the sky and crashed right through a wall and into the north wing of Lakeside Asylum for the Criminally Insane. Even bending a few speed laws he was too late to stem the chaos. Sirens painted the scene in garish light and; whole building had caught fire somewhere along the way smoke pouring out the windows and obscuring the low hanging moon.

“Who escaped?” He cut to the chase, addressing Commissioner Leon.

“Nimeuh, the Wicked Sisters Morgana and Morgause, and the Dragon. I think the Dragon set the fire during the chaos and all the inmates have needed to be evacuated it’s impossible to get an accurate report on who’s missing. We found one of Morgana’s knives in a guard already.” 

Arthur bit down on the childish urge to scream and shout in frustration. It wouldn’t help anything. “Any idea what crashed?”

“None, it didn’t even show up on radar until it was right over the city.”

Arthur swept his cape behind him as he turned sharply on his feet. “I’m going in.” He growled and Leon made a token protest but Arthur knew he wouldn’t move to stop the Batman.

What he found in the dark halls of the asylum was a few lingering inmates. He broke the arm of one that rushed him with a fist full of plastic cutlery, and another he found curled in a corner babbling something about a Star Man.

Arthur couldn’t figure out what David Bowie had to do with this until he found the ship. It was blackened along the blunted nose and throwing off showers of sparks where it had been almost ripped in half by the impact, trailing glittering debris. The side was pocked with dents from automatic weapon fire.

Something moved and Arthur reacted instinctively as it grabbed for him, deflecting the hand and whirling to slam whoever it was against the ground. He landed in a figure-four arm bar that didn’t take because it’s ‘arm’ squished becoming a tentacle and bending with the force instead.

He rolled away from it and stared. It looked like it was trying to be human but all its source material was cartoons. The eyes were far too big and an unnatural luminous blue. The angles of the skinny body were all subtly off, head too big and limbs just a little off.

The Batman wasn’t equipped to deal with this.

“Help.” It said, voice coming out a croak.

\--

Of all the things ‘Merlin’ had picked up since crash landing on earth and moving into socialite and billionaire Arthur Pendragaon’s house sarcasm was probably the first. Arthur blamed Giaus. With some more observation Merlin managed to look more human at least, even if his ears were still ridiculously large.

He was pressed against one of the huge windows, wearing only a silk robe and the bandages from a fight with the Dragon.

There should’ve been something weird about this (who was he to talk- he dressed as a fucking bat) but instead it was just perfect. Holding Merlin by the jaw and shoving his cock down his throat. Merlin wasn’t human ergo Merlin didn’t have a gag reflex.

He let the window take more of his weight, spreading his legs at the dry slither feeling of Merlin’s (don’t call them tentacles don’t-- oh) tentacle moving up the inside of his thigh. He jerked, caught between the pressure of Merlin pushing into him and the tight wet heat of his mouth as he held Merlin’s head steady as he fucked his throat rough enough to bring a hint of wetness to the corners of Merlin’s too-blue eyes.

He shouldn’t feel like this, stuffed so full of tentacle and coming hard enough that the edges of his vision greyed with Merlin helping support his weight.

“Do you come in peace?” Merlin smirked up at him, sucking a possessive bruise into Arthur’s hip.

He let his head hit the window a hollow thump groaning, “fuck.” Outside the Bat Signal painted the sky.

* * *

 

**06**

_**Warnings:** maybe a hint of Dub-con?_

As Merlin shifted against the ropes, he reminded himself that he only had to hold out until morning. Then the villagers would see that he hadn't magically freed himself, that he wasn't a sorcerer, and everything would be fine.

Except it wasn't. His heart jumped when the great shadow loomed over the hill.

Despite not a sign of it for months, the dragon _had_ come for it’s sacrifice this time.

He cringed when the beast landed, its ruby scales glistening brilliantly, then closed his eyes when it reared over him. He hoped in that moment that it would be over quickly, that it wouldn't leave anything for his mother to find in the morning.

When nothing happened though... Merlin squinted an eye open to find the dragon had lowered its head. Its blue eyes roved over his body with ineffable intent, and its serpentine tongue flickered curiously out into the air.

"What are you waiting for?" he yelled when it didn't attack, because he had never been patient, and the anticipation was driving him _mad_. "Get it over with and kill me already!" His voice was panicky and edged with anger.

When it roared, every hair on his body stood on end, and Merlin snapped his eyes closed again.

"Most humans don't typically _want_ me to kill them, you know," a smoky voice rasped into his ear.

Merlin jerked in shock and his eyes flashed open, meeting vivid blue that were strikingly similar to... He looked wildly around. The dragon was gone, and instead a man- a very naked man- was standing before him, the heat of his body radiating onto Merlin across the small space between them.

"Who? _What_ are you?" He gasped, trying to keep his eyes focused on the handsome face, the shining blond hair that glinted in the sun, and not the proud body that made his own quicken with desire.

"I am Arthur.”

“But!” Merlin protested, and then he bristled when Arthur smirked in understanding.

“Idiot human, did you not know that dragons could change their shape?”

Merlin... _hadn't_ known.

The man's lips quirked into a wicked smile. Now that he was in human form, Merlin couldn’t misinterpret the way his blue eyes traveled over his body.

"So you aren't going to kill me?"

"Why would I want to do that? It would be such a," he licked his lips "waste."

Merlin shivered when a hand palmed his face, then slid lower to feel the contours of his chest, to cup his cock, before pulling away.

"It's been a long time since I have been offered a sacrifice of such loveliness," the man-dragon murmured. "Usually I am offered virgin girls," he scoffed. "What use do I have for a virgin girl? Of course I kill them..."

Suddenly the air twisted, and a dragon stood before Merlin once again. He didn't flinch away, but he did gasp when giant claws wrapped around him, and with a mighty effort lifted him into the air.

~~~

The dragon's- _Arthur's_ \- lair was a surprise to Merlin. It was a large cave, but it was clean and there were human comforts. He eyed the fire and large bed of furs.

"Do you like it?" Arthur breathed. "I hope you do, because I don't plan on letting you go."

He gulped, and then let his eyes travel along Arthur’s glorious body. When he led Merlin with meaningful intent toward the bed, he didn’t protest.

Arthur's body was fever hot. Merlin almost couldn't bear to touch him, but he tolerated it, _cried_ for it when a suckling mouth stretched around his cock.

By the time three fingers worked inside of him, he didn't care. "Yes!" He groaned when Arthur turned him onto hands and knees, and then he keened when a fat cock, hard as dragon scales, began forcing its way inside of him.

Arthur _growled_ when he was close, and then he pulled out, flipped Merlin onto his belly and roughly jerked himself until burning hot seed landed on Merlin's stomach. He hissed in pain, then cried out when it combined with the sharp pleasure of fingers once again massaging inside of him, mercilessly pressing against the spot that had him seizing with unbearable pleasure.

And when it was over and he was curled, sated, into soft furs, he decided that being sacrificed to a dragon wasn’t really the worst thing after all.

* * *

 

**07**

_**Warnings:** Do we need to warn for interspecies humanoid sexual activity?_

Arthur was eight years old when he discovered Greystone. The young prince crawled through a tower window onto a narrow ledge of castle roof seeking a private place to mourn his dying Nanny. High winds threatened to send him plummeting from the heights to the courtyard below, but the boy found safety cradled in the lee of a stone gargoyle. None but cold stone bore witness to his tears.

At nine, he buried his head in the statue’s lap when his father striped his back for a transgression; at ten, he trembled under its outstretched wing as a family of sorcerers, including a baby, was burned for their crime.

By Arthur’s twelfth year, the harsh demands of training and the pressure of the King’s scrutiny sent him roof-wards more nights than naught, to pour out frustration and whisper secrets to its homely countenance.

At fifteen, Arthur blushingly confessed that he had stolen a kiss from the kitchen maid… and the falconer’s boy… His heart full of feelings, his friend witnessed them all with a grotesque grin and laughing eyes.

On the night of the Prince’s seventeenth birthday, the young man squeezed his broad shoulders through the tiny tower window and hefted himself to the roof above with the ease of many years’ practice. His jaw jutted in anger, he pried viciously with his knife at the moss clinging to the slate tiles. Greystone waited him out with the patience of ages, until he found his words.

“My father has announced that he seeks a bride for me.” Arthur leaned his forehead into the crook of the statue’s squat neck. “I’m… I know he thinks me a man now, but I’m not ready. Not to give myself so wholly to someone I’ve not yet met, to give over every part of myself. I know it must happen – just – not yet. I’m not ready.” He climbed onto the lap of the crouching creature, straddling its leg, and rocked himself to completion against its broad muscular thigh. When he’d had his release, he laid his head against its chiseled shoulder. “I’m not ready to give you up.”

~~~

“Father has given me a new manservant,” he told his stone companion one evening. “A rude, unwashed peasant. Don’t laugh! Do you understand? I’ll have no privacy. How will I come to you if he stalks my chambers with his endless chatter? “

Greystone chuckled, settling Arthur to its chest, where it smelled of rain and moss and wet stone. It ran clawed hands – talons – down Arthur’s bare back. “You have always found your way to me, my Prince,” its low voice rumbled. “Let me distract you from the indignity of this imposition.”

Arthur stroked his hands around Greystone’s thick phallus, guiding it towards himself. Greystone rolled them, laying Arthur down lovingly against the mossy tiles. It crouched between Arthur’s thighs, the round knob of its cockhead nudging unerringly against the slicked circle of Arthur’s opening. Arthur cried out as it pressed inside, the rough scrape of granite on his passage a welcome burn to Arthur’s hungry need. Pulling back, the giant plunged again, and again, lifting Arthur to dizzying heights of pleasure. Its clawed hand grasped Arthur’s dripping cock, squeezing and stroking it until Arthur begged for release. In moments, Arthur painted His lover’s chest with long lines of come. Greystone waited until Arthur had pumped out the last drops of orgasm before gently pulling out. Wiping the come off the crevices of its chiseled chest, it pressed two claws between Arthur’s lips, allowing him to suck the salty taste from cold fingertips. 

~~~

With a crash of glass, the window to Arthur’s chambers shattered and a towering monster of gray stone crouched before the Prince’s bed, snarling. The new servant leaped toward the beast, arm outstretched and eyes flashing gold, blasting the creature back. The combatants circled, vying for position between the Prince and their opponent. 

“Gargoyle!”

“Sorcerer!” 

“STAND DOWN!” Arthur commanded, stepping between them. “Enough name-calling! He turned to his servant. “A SORCERER, Merlin? Really?” he rolled his eyes. “This should make life… interesting.”

“I’ve been trying to protect you, you arse!” the servant glared, wary.

Greystone threw up its head and laughed. “Oh my Prince. You shine so brightly, you blind yourself. Your destiny walks in your shadow, and you cannot see for your own light.” It smiled sadly, soft grey eyes flitting from Merlin to Arthur. “I am no longer needed here.” With a snap of wings, it took flight.

* * *

 

**08**

Arthur swore that next time he would bother to read some reviews before buying an expensive device.

It was not that E-MRYS 2050 was bad at the household chores it was build to do as such, it was magical in all the best ways, but sometimes it was a bit overeager. The problem was that whenever Arthur brought someone home with him, the robot (or _Merlin_ as Morgana had called it ever since Arthur had first used the word magic to describe it) tended to interrupt the action by inquiring if the guest would like any refreshments or if the bed was comfortable enough. It bothered Arthur to do anything in front of the machine even when the intelligence shining out of its sensors was artificial.

He liked sex, but preferred waking up in his own bed and didn’t want to visit some stranger’s flat just to get laid. This had led to Arthur never getting off with the exceptions of quick mutual wanks in backrooms of several clubs and too rarely his own hand at home. Arthur was constantly frustrated at work, because nowadays he never took time at pleasuring himself.

This needed to change as soon as possible. When he _finally_ came home after a long day, he took a glass of red wine to relieve his tension and dimmed the lights. He tried to imagine another person sitting with him on the sofa; he had a mental image of dark hair, blue eyes, and slender body. His breath hitched when he thought about kissing plush lips and fingers searching for the fly of his trousers.

Arthur closed his eyes and teased himself by palming his crotch and touching chest with fingers. He opened his legs wider and opened the trousers, before pushing a hand inside them.

Oh God, it had been too long. He was hard and leaking, and it was going to be so good.

“Do you need any help?”

Alarmed, Arthur opened his eyes and looked for the source of the voice. Two blue lights were shining from the sensors Merlin had in the processing centre and in the semi-darkness the robot looked almost like a human. Before Arthur could answer or give a command to leave the room, Merlin had rolled closer and touched his arm gently.

Arthur had expect the robot to feel cold, maybe metallic, but it was made of some elastic material and felt warm, even hot, to Arthur’s skin. The gentle touch made Arthur moan and wonder what the touch would feel like on his cock.

He did not have to wonder for long, because Merlin was in front of him and lowered itself enough to easily touch Arthur’s stomach.

“Will you allow me to do this?”

Merlin’s fingers, no, no, they were _grasping equipment_ , Arthur reminded himself, were moving softly and pushing his boxers down his thighs past his cock. Then the movement stopped, and Arthur realised the robot was waiting for an answer.

“Yes, yes, please do.”

“At your service.”

Arthur had a feeling that if Merlin could have produced proper facial expressions it would have been smirking right now.

A few drops of clear, slippery liquid landed on his cock. One second later Arthur realised it must have been the oil used to keep his furniture polished. The grasping equipment wrapped around his cock and began to bring him slowly towards an orgasm. Arthur dropped his head on the back rest and imagined clever fingers touching him instead. He tried to keep the thrusts of his hips in check, but it was hard with Merlin holding his cock _just right_ and the oil making the touch slippery and smooth and dear lord, how hot the touch felt on his skin.

Arthur moaned aloud. He needed more. Just a bit more and he would...

Merlin slid the other grasping thing, hand, fingers, fuck, whatever it was, through the oil and under his balls and asked,

“Do you want it like this?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Arthur breathed. So. Fucking. Close.

When the almost-fingers touched his prostate, Arthur felt a shock of pleasure going through his whole body and came shuddering with Merlin leading him through it.

“I will bring you a towel. I have some cleaning up to do next,” Merlin said and backed off to give Arthur time to recover. Maybe Arthur imagined it, but the electronic voice sounded almost happy.

On a second thought, maybe buying Merlin hadn’t been such a mistake after all.

* * *

 

**09**

Her workroom is hot, even in the dead of winter. The furnace is always burning, steam pouring through her chimney at all hours of the night. The room is in chaos; scrap metal, glass, and wiring litters the floor, the wooden workbenches piled high with strange-looking tools.

She’s grown fond of it.

*

The creation stands in the corner, a complicated series of leather straps holding it in place. Its shape grows more distinct every day, the form of a man becoming slowly visible.

She covers it when she sleeps.

*

Morgana is the only one who visits her, bringing her meals once a week and attempts to coax a smile out of her.

She’s genuinely grateful to Morgana for it, but when Morgana asks, as she always does, if she’s sure this is the right thing to do, she turns away. And when Morgana stands to leave, holding her close for a moment, she whispers in her ear.

“Remember your promise.”

*

She dreams of him almost every night.

If she’s lucky, it’s of his bright smile and soft eyes. A mosaic of the good things they shared; sunlight, dances, whisky, nights full of smothered giggles and soft moans.

Most of the time she’s unlucky. She dreams of battle and bloodshed and promises foolishly begged and even more foolishly kept. She hears herself whisper over and over, “keep him safe, please, for me,” and every time he nods. He never kisses her before he goes.

The war taught her many things. Fear. Anguish. Grief. But, most of all, regret.

*

And so day after day, she builds and polishes, the pieces coming together slowly, order assembled out of chaos. She remembers the things her father taught her, and smiles that her hands are now as work-rough as his had once been.

*

“Are you certain it’s ready?”

“Yes.”

Morgana circles the creation, mingled awe and concern on her face. She runs a finger across the shoulders, up along the neck and cheek.

“How did you do the skin?”

“It’s just a glimmer. It’s really steel and platinum.”

Morgana shoots her a sharp look. “A glimmer? Where did you get that?”

“From Merlin, long ago. Before - everything. It was a gift.”

Morgana doesn’t reply, but drops her hand to rest on the chest.

“And the heart?” she asks quietly.

“Clockwork.”

“I’m not sure - ”

“Morgana, you promised.”

Morgana’s eyes flash for a moment, and she remembers. The war, and what it did Morgana, how betrayal and madness tore at her until she fled, how fearful she is now, how rarely she uses her gifts. Remembers a promise made in fear and despair. “Please,” she adds softly.

Morgana sighs. “Very well.”

*

They lay her creation on the bed in the corner, and Morgana stands at the foot of it, her hand extended, eyes gold. The incantation is surprisingly simple, but she feels the power sparking off Morgana as she chants.

She can tell the moment it happens, can see the instant it goes from well-worked metal and glass to indefinably _more_.

*

He awakes suddenly, sitting bolt upright. He looks confused and shaken and gloriously beautiful, and she can’t help the way she starts to cry.

He pulls her to him at once, unquestioningly, and she only sobs harder.

“I brought you back to me, Lance. I had to.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m glad.”

*

His hands are different. She built him from memory, not measurement, and they sit differently on her hips, her breasts, the curve of her cheek. But the softness of his touch is achingly familiar.

It feels strange and a little scary, the cold, hard feel of metal under her fingers contradicting the vision of warm, soft skin. She hadn’t thought this far ahead, obsessed entirely with having him here with her again, but she finds herself helpless. He’s been touching her for an age, as if trying to relearn her, and the aching burn low in her stomach has her almost ready to beg.

There’s no tongue on her skin, no ragged breath in her ear, but he slides his fingers inside her and starts to move, and it’s better than it’s ever felt. He’s _here_ , he’s close, she can hear him murmuring in her ear, endearments and promises and so much love her heart can’t hold it all.

He speaks her name, reverent, and she comes sobbing, clutching at his ironwork shoulders, lips pressed to his chest over the heart she made herself.

“ _Gwen_.”

* * *

 

**10**

_**Warnings:** feminization, "Felis Sapiens" induced dirty talk_

Merlin waits until after he has the knight alone before he lets his hood drop. He refuses to lower his eyes because he has _nothing_ to be ashamed of, but he can’t help but blush from the way the knight - Gwaine - whistles. 

"I wondered why you stuck around," Gwaine says, grinning, already palming his crotch like the hormone driven pillock that knights usually are. Merlin doesn't care; Gwaine is undeniably hot and now is as good a time as ever.

Merlin turns away and starts to undress. "Just - can we get on with it?"

"Sure thing, pet," he says, casual as you please but by the time Merlin's undressed, Gwaine is flush up against the back of him, pressing his _already_ hard cock against Merlin's arse. "I'll take care of that pesky virginity for you."

"You're disgusting," Merlin tries to say but Gwaine tangles a hand in his hair, fingers grazing his hyper-aroused ears, and pushes him over the side of the straw bed until his bare arse is in the air, tail flexed. "What—"

"Hush, let me take a look at you."

Merlin hisses, fighting the sound the curls in his chest as Gwaine rakes his fingernails down Merlin's back and palms his arse, spreading him open without hesitation.

"Just," Merlin says but Gwaine is laughing, making his cock leak and his tail twitch.

"Let me run this show, pussycat."

Merlin is about to get up and march out, but Gwaine keeps him spread with one hand as the other goes to jerk _hard_ the base of his tail. Merlin cries out, head going limp with pleasure as his entire body lights up.

"Pretty kitty with the pretty pussy," Gwaine whispers, mouth so hot and close to Merlin's hole. He couldn't - no, he wouldn't -

Gwaine's mouth is _sloppy_ and almost cool against the heat of Merlin's body. The sensation has him bucking back and making an embarrassing noise that Gwaine doesn't shush, but encourages with a soft "yes, there you are", tongue snaking out to lick up and _inside_.

"Oh, oh," Merlin can hear himself cry out in time with the way Gwaine jerks at his tail with every stab of his tongue. " _Fuck_ , please just—"

Gwaine's mouth is gone, replaced swiftly by the blunt head of his cock and it hurts, _oh gods it hurts_ , but the smell of sweat and sex makes Merlin’s body unfold without his permission and Gwaine sinks until his balls slap against Merlin's arse—all resistance long forgotten.

"You're on fire, babe," Gwaine growls, hips hitching too fast but Merlin can only purr, rutting his ears against the bed and tearing at the sheets. Against all logic, Gwaine's cock feels phenomenally good inside of him. "Gonna fuck those ears right off your precious little head."

Gwaine is grinding into him, punishing hips drilling his cock inside, while he fingers Merlin's fur until he yelps, tail flicking back into Gwaine's face.

"Naughty kitten," Gwaine says with another thrust, before he takes the tip of Merlin's tail into his mouth and _sucks_.

Merlin screams, fingers grabbing at his ears as pleasure flares up his spine—he's going to come, his cock pressed into the thick straw mattress beneath him. But then Gwaine's changing the angle, hitting something even hotter inside of him and leaning over to cover Merlin's body completely.

"Next time, I could take your arse and I want this inside me," Gwaine moans out into Merlin's tufted ears. "Have your tail curling inside me, pussycat—while I fuck you."

Merlin comes on a mewl, feeling wet slickness inside of him as Gwaine grunts around the wet fur of Merlin's tail, spurting messily between Merlin's cheeks and thighs.

Afterwards, he wakes long enough to realize Gwaine is cleaning him with a cool wet cloth and rubbing at his ears until Merlin can't help but purr at the sensation.

"Too bad they'll be gone before the morning," Merlin hears, still fucked out and sleepy as he butts his head into Gwaine's hands. "You know where to find me pet, ears or no ears, yeah?"

But Gwaine is gone before Merlin can come out of his slumber to reply.

The next morning, Merlin goes to the mirror to take in his new reflection. Only, he sees himself staring back. The ears are still there and the prophesy haunts, hanging heavy and true in the pit of his stomach: _only the Once and Future King will make a man from a boy—there your destiny lies_.

* * *

 

**11**

He’s shifted so many times he’s not sure he knows his own face anymore. It doesn’t matter though, the world is his for the taking this way.

_Lancelot_

This may be his favorite skin to wear. The Queen is greedy for this face. She lets him lift her dress and feast on the delectable wetness dripping from her core.

He licks up her slit and slender fingers weave into his hair to pull him closer. She’s delirious with need, tugs at his hair while she rides his face with abandon. He pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks hard until Guinevere screams and comes all over his face.

_Morgause_

This skin is more difficult. Morgana’s magic is powerful and she can sense this isn’t his true face. She lets him in anyway.

The sorceress’ skin is a beautiful alabaster white that he spends hours caressing. Her flesh prickles in goosebumps, nipples rising to pert attention under his fingers. He sucks one of the rosy buds into his mouth and is delighted as she squirms beneath him.

He pushes two fingers inside her and pumps them without mercy, ripping her release from her. She comes with fingernails digging into his shoulders and her sister’s name on her lips. 

_Elyan_

Wearing this face gets him well and truly fucked. Percival welcomes him into his tent with open arms and forces him on his hands and knees. Long, thick fingers carefully stretch him open before something much larger replaces them and slides in to the hilt.

His muscles contract around the shaft inside him, squeezing it, encouraging it deeper. Percival’s hands grip his hips hard enough to leave bruises, pulling him back to meet each powerful thrust. 

“Elyan. Fuck,” the man whispers into the skin at his shoulder. Percival grabs his cock and strokes him so hard it’s bordering on pain. He comes all over his stomach just as he feels the knight release deep inside him.

_Gwaine_

He has so much fun in this skin. Leon is shy and far too proper, which makes every whine of pleasure, every whimper of want, that much more enjoyable to drag from him lips.

He lets his fingers slip out of Leon’s hole and pulls the man onto his lap.

“Fuck yourself on my cock.” He demands.

Leon’s eyes go wide and his cheeks dust pink. Regardless, he still nods and lifts himself up, ever obedient.

He leans forward and kisses Leon firmly, groaning into his mouth as the other man lowers himself onto his dick. He reaches around the knight and runs his hands over the plump curve of his arse, grasping the meaty flesh and kneading. He guides the man to a steady rhythm, not stopping until his balls pull up tight and he comes hard.

~~~~

He always assumed he’d be found out one day, but he also thought it would be by one of the people he’s fucking; not the King.

He had just come from the Queen’s chamber and Arthur seems to have followed him all the way to the lower town.

Right now he’s wearing a strange mix of Lancelot’s skin and the face of a guard he was shifting into. Magic ebbs and flows through his body, parts of him are peeling and rolling back only to be replaced by something new. The space around him buzzes with energy, expanding to make room for his change. 

“Tell me who you are.” Arthur has Excalibur pointed towards him, voice threatening.

“That doesn’t matter.” He answers slowly, hands up in submission. He lets his body settle back into the visage of Lancelot. Someone Arthur trusts. Little pieces of skin lock into place and bones reset until his body finally goes still and settles into the form. “What does matter, is that I can be anyone you want.”

Arthur steps closer, sword nearly resting on his chest. “Anyone? Even--” his voice is steady and face composed, neither betraying the emotions flickering through his eyes.

His head tilts, “Even Emrys. You miss him don’t you? His death must have been hard on you,” he says and takes a small step forward, feeling the cold steel press into skin.

Arthur appears to be warring with himself.

“Do you want to see him again?” he asks. The air around him shimmers and vibrates as his eyes brighten to a shining blue and his lips curl into a goofy grin.

The King gasps, his sword clattering to the ground, forgotten.

* * *

 

**12**

_**Warnings:** AU (duh?), scaly things (ok, dragons), cliches?_

Here There be Dragons

 

It was like a dance, a wild, thrashing, crazy dance. One with huge wings, thrashing tails, and glittering scales, in midair. Merlin didn’t know what was worse, sitting here with all the other betas or being invited to join.

Drakes swerved in and around each other, butting heads and breathing fire that licked dragon teeth. Betas perched on the rock outcropping near him stood occasionally, tails raised in blatant invitation. As drakes came to hover around those standing the serpentine tails would lash, lowering swiftly or perking. The latter was offered a clawed hand and dragged into the sky for a courting dance.

Merlin himself was very, very unimpressed. None of the drakes looked his way, or had a mean look he didn’t like. He fluttered his own wings, gold and blue shimmering. He’d been nervous earlier, but now he wanted to be alone. Dread crept in as Gwen accepted the hand of a dark-haired drake. Freya was already chosen. He’d be all alone.

A shadow fell across him. He expected them to leave with another beta but the shadow didn’t move and he bristled as he looked up. A green-winged drake hovered, scales covering bulging muscles but unable to hide the mean look of his face. He held out a hand, demanding. Merlin shook his head though his heart was pounding. He’d stay unchosen, thanks. Even that vicious female drake, the purple one (Morgana perhaps?), looked nicer.

The drake snarled and landed in front of him, against tradition. Not a moment later he was flung off the outcropping. Merlin almost hoped his wings snapped as he fell.

But his attention was diverted by the new drake. Well muscled, with wings that could easily wrap around Merlin three times, his scales, an almost-rusty red-gold, were smattered over his body, forming ridges on his cheekbones and moving like armor over his shoulders. His chest was decked lightly though Merlin could see the seemingly smooth skin glittering like jewels. Blue eyes hadn’t left Merlin. A smirk revealed pointed teeth, which quickly became human-like again. And he was blonde, uncommon, especially for a drake. Which meant this could only be one drake… Arthur, who he hadn’t seen for years. What had he done to deserve this?

\---------------------  
An arm slipped around his waist and pulled him back into a wall of muscle as he stared at the nest of furs. The wall rumbled. “You like it?”

Merlin shuddered but nodded. “Were you expecting to bring someone home?”

“Here I thought on your own mating day you wouldn’t be mouthy.” He chuckled, and Merlin’s bones liquefied. Luckily Arthur scooped him up and lowered them to the bed, Arthur lying over him with just their breeches between.

Arthur snuffled into his hair, and Merlin poked his side. “Teasing now?” He was thrilled his voice sounded confident with his stomach trying to rebel.

Arthur bit at his neck, making Merlin arch. “Impatient. I want to enjoy my spoils.”

His firm thigh against Merlin’s erection cut off his protest, and allowed Arthur to continue. Merlin could only press against his thigh to work himself toward pleasure as Arthur seemed content where he was. Until Merlin started shaking he was so close.

It was then Arthur stopped him, clawed hands on Merlin’s hips to still him and peel his pants away. “Arthur, please…”

A growl broke over him. “You come on my cock, Merlin. My mate.”

Merlin could only moan and cling to him, fingers dipping to run over the smooth membranes of his wings. They twitched under his touch and Arthur reached outside the nest for a flask of oil.

Merlin flushed and spread his legs slowly. All the male betas were taught preparation, and told to practice. He pried the bottle from Arthur’s resisting hands, coating his own fingers to prepare himself while Arthur watched, enraptured.

Merlin shuddered around his own fingers, eyes clenched shut, and almost came out of his skin when a thick finger pushed between his own. He nearly went cross-eyed with pleasure and looked up to see Arthur’s pupils blown wide.

Another growl came and Merlin was keenly aware of Arthur’s red-gold tail, its spiked end menacing in the half-light as Arthur knelt over him. He brought his hands to Arthur’s shoulders and a sudden wave of pain swept through.

Arthur paused, actually leaning down to kiss him. The shock of that alone made Merlin open his mouth, moaning softly as Arthur pushed forward. “Hmm…” The hum vibrated through them both. “Mine.”

* * *

 

**13**

_**Warning:** some violent imagery, alien robot sex (for Tform fans: a form of Plug 'n Play, Spark sex)_

_Vivitron stumbled along the darkened street, energy levels so low her processor glitched every few steps, making her stumble sideways into half-ruined buildings and piles of rubble._

_The tower, her home. She had watched it fall, fled the liquid fire that rose in its wake._ Primus. __

_Gone was her status as the sparkling of a Councilmember. Gone the extra rations and the vicious, idle play with her agemates. Gone security, entitlement. Gone the days when her only concern was whether she had scratched her paint while plugging into some other highborn youngling._

_Iacon was burning. The rebellion was real. Uther Prime, if he still lived, might fall like Olaf's tower had, in flames._

_She made her way toward the edges of the city, away from the smoldering fires and their angry smoke. _Frag it,_ that was energon burning. Food. She was so hungry, desperate, and she knew she would not reach the safety of the plains outside the city if she could not find energy somewhere._

_Exhausted, she crashed once more into a wall and stayed there, tipping forward as her optics went dark._

^

She came back online slowly. Diagnostics sprang to life, damage reports and self-repair sequences. Someone was connected, her emergency fuel line sunk deep into another mech's tanks. Whimpering, she unshuttered her optics.

An older mech with maroon coloring sat with her head propped on his lap. "Hush, youngling," he told her when she tried to rise. "You ran too low. Give your systems time to self-repair."

"I am not a youngling," she said primly, or tried to. Her vocalizer rasped, as drained as the rest of her body.

He smiled gently. "Of course not."

The feeling of taking energy directly from another mech was strange to her. Half-formed memories from when she was a sparkling returned - Olaf had done this for her when she was too small and primitive to feed herself, in the first few weeks of life, while her programming sorted itself out. It should have made her feel small and weak again to do it now, but something about the quiet way the other mech sat did not insult her dignity.

Not only sparklings but lovers, too, did this - and friends, to save each others' lives. Or so the holovids told her. She had never needed such help, had never felt the sensitive port of her adult siphon tube slide beneath armor, deep into another mech's vulnerable protoform. She shuddered, sensor nodes coming online one after another, all reporting the perfectly snug fit of her siphon within the other mech's tank.

The energon within tasted different from the high grade she was accustomed to. Rather than a pure hit of energy, it was spicy, flavored with dozens of trace elements her systems latched onto eagerly, absorbing them through the walls of her own tank and sending them to help rebuild damaged systems.

She could taste, _feel._ Her frame shuddered, responding to this newfound sensitivity after so long feeling numb.

 _Are you well?_ The mech commed, concern overlaying his message.

She tried to block him out, but a brief burst of static from her was enough for him to understand, his own optics widening.

"I am sorry," he said, "I did not mean to-"

His spark pulsed involuntarily, and her own jumped in reaction. He tried to retreat, guilt layering his processors, and why could she feel his thoughts anyway? Ah, the tube. It was warming, suction easing, preparing to detach now that she had adequate supplies. Abruptly, she realized she did not want to disconnect.

 _Who are you?_ she asked, even as her spark throbbed again, sending a wash of energy through them both.

His optics shuttered. _Aglain,_ he whispered across the growing bond, desperate already. The name carried a thousand flavors of his past. She saw a refugee camp full of sparklings, old mechs, the damaged. She saw how he purified energon from contaminated sources and brought it to his people. She caught a brief glimpse of the inside of the council chambers, long ago. _Before Uther Prime began murdering his people._ The words were not hers, but even as she recoiled at the thought, she was reaching for the voice itself.

 _Please._ Her chest casing opened, offering her vulnerable spark in this dirty street in the midst of a burning city. And gently, slowly, he opened to meet her.

* * *

 

**14**

Arthur woke up in a cave, but he was certain that he'd fallen on the battlefield.

The low embers of a fire burned nearby. He was resting on a bed of furs. The dawn -- or the sunset -- shone diffused light outside. The wind whistled, the birds sang, the branches clacked.

Arthur had no recollection of coming to this cave. He didn't remember there even having been a cave near the killing grounds.

But he was alive, and he had dreamed of a man with shining, golden eyes snuffling at his injury and washing him with his rough tongue. It was so absurd a memory that Arthur would have laughed had he the strength, but where there had been a wound was now a scar, and he was nearly hale.

Arthur reached for his clothes. He froze as the shadows shifted, at the deep, warning growl that echoed in his soul.

It was a cat, but not like any he'd ever seen. It was as large as a man, bigger than any wolf. The sunlight gave it no colour; its fur was as black as pitch and its eyes were an unnatural gold, shining bright all on their own.

It padded inside the cave, its long tail swishing. There was a flash of sharp, white fangs when it bumped a paw against the cauldron warming by the coals. The contents tipped and doused the low flames in a huff of steam and smoke.

Arthur fumbled for a weapon.

The cat stretched out on top of him, heavy but not suffocating, tickling bare skin with soft, soft fur.

Arthur's sword was... almost --

Strong, slender fingers closed around Arthur's wrist. A whispered shush was too human to be animal. Arthur looked down and into the golden eyes of a man. 

A shapechanger. 

Arthur had only heard of them from his father's old Knights, those who had gone and hunted down every single one, showing the beasts no mercy. He touched the man's face, disbelieving, and the man smiled.

The cat -- the man -- was beautiful. The glow in his eyes had faded, but not until Arthur had seen a glimpse of the blue in them before it was too dark to see. He had a strong, angular face, lovely cheekbones, a soft mouth. There was a heady, mesmerizing scent to him, and from the way he was stretched shamelessly against Arthur, he was long and lean and naked.

Arthur's cock twitched. He abandoned the sword at his fingertips and wrapped his arm around the man. 

Beyond the cave, loud voices barked in a barbarian tongue. Arthur tensed, his heart pounding. He recognized the enemy.

There were shouts, laughter, thrashing sounds. They were coming closer.

"Trust me," the shapechanger whispered, and Arthur was enthralled by the flash of gold in his eyes.

He waited. They waited. The barbarians departed. 

Arthur caught himself inhaling the shapechanger's rich, musky scent. It made Arthur dizzy. It made Arthur kiss the man.

There was a new sound.

Purring.

The man nuzzled at Arthur's throat. Pressed light kisses under his ear. Ran a tongue, scratchy and moist, along his jaw.

Arthur bit his lip to keep from moaning. The man's hand danced over his skin before wrapping around Arthur's cock and stroking with such a feathery touch that Arthur's back arched, hips fucking that circle of slender fingers, wanting more.

Abruptly, Arthur was held down, smothered by both weight and messy kisses, his thighs parted by the rough kick of knees and a rearranging of limbs. He gasped at the press against his ass, at the insistent push that _hurt_ until the man's cock was seated deep, at the brief, panting pause before the burn of the first few thrusts became glorious pleasure. Arthur reached between them, fisting his own cock, and he was at the frustrating crest, unable to come --

A sharp bite on the soft flesh between shoulder and throat, sharp enough to draw blood, should not feel so _good_ \--

The shapechanger spilled his heat inside Arthur even as Arthur came. The shapechanger kissed and nuzzled before pulling out roughly to lap at the mess on Arthur's stomach.

The fire burst to life with the glow of golden eyes. The shapechanger leaned over Arthur and kissed him, his lips moving in soundless words until he breathed a growling "Mine."

The big black cat padded to the mouth of the cave, pausing to look over his shoulder at Arthur, and was gone.

* * *

 

**15**

Arthur ducks swiftly into the spare room, hoping the door won’t squeak as he closes it quickly behind him. He can still hear Morgana bellowing at him from the hall, and the _click-click_ of her stilettos as she chases him down.

“I will kill you, Arthur. You and your football!” Morgana shouts. “That vase cost a fortune.”

Nothing for it. Arthur assesses the situation with military precision and decides to make a tactical retreat to the empty wardrobe in the corner. He remembers to leave the door open a crack, because he knows it is a very foolish thing to shut oneself into a wardrobe.

He dives deeper into the wardrobe, tripping over something and stumbling backward, landing his arse in a pile of something wet. “That’s disgusting,” Arthur mutters to himself, before he turns around and discovers that the wetness is actually a clump of snow.

Arthur gets to his feet, bewildered, and finds himself in a forest, with snow falling thickly around him. He see a light coming from far off, beyond the trees. He squints through the crack of the wardrobe door into the spare room, making sure he knows the way back, although he’s not keen on facing Morgana just yet. Nonetheless, Arthur Pendragon is not a man to say no to an adventure. He grabs a tree branch from the snowy ground for protection, heading for the mysterious light in the distance.

\---

Arthur reaches the light—it turns out to be an old-fashioned lamppost—and wonders what in the bloody hell is happening. Before he can ponder on that too much, he hears the _crunch-crunch_ of feet in the snow behind him. He whirls to face his enemy, brandishing his tree branch.

A half-human creature is staring at him with undisguised surprise, red woollen scarf around its neck and tail wrapped neatly around its arm. Arthur stares at the creature’s horns, at its large ears, and at the bright blue eyes looking back at him with equal curiosity. Its bottom half, though—its legs aren’t those of a human, and instead more like those of a goat. Arthur’s eyes skate over the creature’s bare chest, and since it isn’t wearing trousers either, Arthur sneaks a look between its legs and, well, it’s definitely male. And, actually, rather hung like—

“—a horse,” Arthur says involuntarily, and most definitely does not think about riding him.

The creature looks positively livid. “I’m not a horse!” he says indignantly. “I’m a faun. I don’t have those nasty hooves like horses do—my feet are cloven.”

Arthur snorts a laugh, dropping his branch. Of course, he’s a _faun_.

The faun glares at him. “And what, exactly, are you?”

Arthur blinks. “I’m a human, of course.”

The faun looks startled. His gaze softens into something bright and hopeful, and his smile makes Arthur’s heart beat faster. “Well, that does explain why you look so cold,” he says, unwinding the scarf from around his neck. Without a word of permission, he steps closer to loop it carefully around Arthur’s neck. The faun’s hands are warm, lingering on his shoulders, and they’re only a breath apart, looking into each other’s eyes. Arthur leans forward just a little, unable to stop himself. The faun tilts his head, and—thank bloody hell—presses his lips to Arthur’s.

When they pull apart, Arthur manages enough coherency to say, “My name is Arthur.”

That gets him a slow, languorous look that sends heat coiling deep in Arthur’s belly. “My name is Merlin,” the faun says. “Would you like to come over to my place for tea?”

\---

Normally, Arthur knows better than to go home with strangers, much less _strange_ strangers who live in caves, but Merlin’s legs are covered in silky, smooth hair that feels absolutely fucking fantastic on Arthur’s cock, and he can’t bring himself to care. They fuck in front of the roaring fireplace, and Arthur finds that he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s shagging a bloody faun so much as he minds the carpet burns. There’s broken pottery around them—good thing Morgana never managed to find her way here—and stains on the carpet that are not all from Merlin’s tea tray.

“What did you say this place was called?” Arthur pants breathlessly between rounds, using the curve of Merlin’s shoulder as a convenient pillow.

“You're in Camelot,” Merlin says, drowsy and warm beside him. “Where you’ll be king.”

* * *

 

**16**

“You look like death warmed over,” Merlin quipped as soon as he opened the door. “Get it? Because it’s hot today, and you’re--”

“Yes, _Mer_ lin, I get it.” Arthur rolled his eyes as he pushed his way inside Merlin’s studio apartment. “What I don’t get is how you can still find that joke funny when you’ve used it a hundred times before. And if you say something about me just being too ‘grim’, I swear I will kill you.”

Merlin grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he headed towards the kitchenette. “We both know how well that’d work out.”

Arthur sighed, sinking down onto Merlin’s couch. “You know, there used to be a time where people respected or even feared death.”

“I keep telling you, if you want to scare people, you should start carrying around the scythe again,” Merlin chuckled, handing Arthur one of the two cans of beer he had retrieved from the fridge before plopping down in his seat. “I also think that you should blame Blue Oyster Cult for being too damn catchy with their, ‘ _Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper, baby take my hannnnd..._ ’”

“What have I told you about singing that around me?” Arthur groaned, taking a swig of his beer and ignoring how it tasted like ash in his mouth. He only took comfort in the action, a reminder of the humanity he never truly had.

Merlin pouted. “C’mon Arthur, it’s a great song.”

“I know,” Arthur said, hiding his smirk behind his beer can, “which is why I don’t want you butchering it.”

“Prat,” Merlin snorted, elbowing Arthur in the side. "Tell me you didn't come here just to make fun of my vocal skills."

Arthur never knew how to really explain it, how after doing the job for literally eons, some days it still got to him. "...I guess I just wanted to forget for a little bit."

Sympathetic understanding flickered over Merlin's face. He calmly plucked Arthur's beer out of his hands, setting it off to the side with Merlin's own. "Okay," Merlin said, moving to straddle Arthur's lap. "Let’s forget."

It was like a switch had been flipped inside Arthur at Merlin's words. He rose up to kiss and suck at Merlin's mouth greedily, weaving his hands into strands of silky black hair. Humans had no idea how lucky they were, to be able to connect with others through mere touch. Most of the time, Arthur couldn't even lay one finger on a person without them keeling over dead, their skin growing ashen as their lifeforce was drained.

Merlin was the only exception; his skin glowed radiantly under Arthur's touch, his magic thrumming just beneath the surface. Arthur loved to create patterns of light as his fingers danced over inch of Merlin's body, loved the sounds Merlin made during this golden waltz.

"Arthur, please," Merlin moaned, his fingers frantically scrambling at the fabric of Arthur's clothes. "I need you."

Arthur secretly thought it was the other way around, more than eager to comply with Merlin's request. He kicked off his shoes and tugged off his shirt, jeans, and boxers--he had ditched the traditional black robes decades ago--before helping Merlin remove his own. At every sight of previously covered skin, Arthur stopped to trace over it in awe, until Merlin was left squirming anxiously. "Gods, Arthur, will you stop playing around and fuck me already?"

"For being immortal, you're too damn impatient," Arthur retorted as he laid Merlin down onto the couch. He liberally coated two fingers with the lube from the side-table drawer, trailing down past Merlin's balls to push inside his entrance.

Merlin whimpered in response, raising his hips to meet in time with Arthur's thrusts, his ankles linking together behind Arthur's back. Arthur grabbed Merlin's straining erection with his free hand, swirling designs of buzzing magic along the hardened length before firmly stroking Merlin's leaking cock.

"Fuck!" Merlin shouted, bucking against the cushions already dampened with sweat. "Fuck, I'm going to--"

The rest of Merlin's words were cut off as Arthur's crooked fingers suddenly pressed against Merlin's prostate, and Merlin came with a sharp cry, shooting milky ropes against his stomach and chest.

Arthur didn't need Merlin to reciprocate, not when Merlin shuddering and breathing heavily underneath him was the only thing in the world that made him feel _alive_.

* * *

 

**17**

 

**A Sea Change**

“It’s lovely, Arthur. You should join me,” Merlin raises his voice so that it will carry over the swish of the waves rushing up the shingle, and the plaintive cries of the seagulls overhead.

“I’m good thanks.” Arthur waits on the shore. He’d refused to even paddle, despite the punishing heat of the sun.

“Your loss!” Merlin turns to float on his back, letting the swell of the ocean rock him, luxuriating in the silky-cool water cradling his naked body. Gentle arousal curls in his belly from the soft caress of each ripple and swirl of the water over his skin.

He flips back onto his front and swims a little further out. He wonders why Arthur refused to swim, usually he’s the first to strip off and dive into a river on a hot day. The mere sight of the ocean seemed to make Arthur unaccountably tense, and Merlin wondered whether his refusal was born of fear. But he knew better than to ask.

Merlin is distracted from his musings as the water temperature drops sharply and the sudden fierce tug of a current drags him away from the shore. He tries to swim against it, but it’s all he can do to stay afloat. He flails and struggles, panic filling him as his head slips below the surface. His mind scrabbles frantically for a spell to save himself that won’t reveal his powers to Arthur, but the burn of brine in his nose is distracting. He tries again, pulling the threads of his magic together. But before he has time to collect and channel the power coursing through him into something constructive, his body is gripped tight and thrust back to the surface.

Merlin chokes and splutters. “ _Arthur_... how?” He coughs again, his throat raw and stinging, trying to makes sense of what’s happening.

Arthur is there; warm arms wrapped around the cool skin of Merlin’s torso in a way that’s surprisingly pleasurable considering the near-death situation. But something isn’t right, the lower half of Merlin’s body is being held too -- but by something cool, and bumpy... and slightly slimy.

“Argh!” Merlin flails again, grabbing at the things, which turn out to be tentacles. He wriggles frantically, trying to prise them off.

“Merlin... _Merlin!_ ” Arthur’s tone makes Merlin pause. “It’s okay... they’re mine.”

Merlin stares into Arthur’s eyes, as blue as the ocean glittering around them. Arthur’s cheeks are flushed as he stares back, his jaw set.

“Arthur...” Merlin whispers. “What _are_ you?” He looks down, needing to see.

Where Arthur’s legs should be, there are greenish-grey tentacles, currently wrapped tightly around Merlin and holding him close. But from the hips and up Arthur is all man -- impressively so in the important places, Merlin notes. His body responds instinctively despite the strangeness of the situation, and his hands slide from tentacles to waist and find smooth warm skin. He presses his hips into Arthur's and their cocks bump together, hot under the cool water.

Arthur gasps, and his hands cup Merlin’s cheeks, pulling his face up so their eyes lock before he leans in to press their lips together.

Arthur tastes of the sea as they rock together in the waves. In that moment, nothing else matters to Merlin but the sensations building between them, racing through Merlin’s senses like a rip tide. Merlin brings a hand down to grip their cocks together, holding tight. Arthur thrusts against him while he explores every inch of Merlin’s body -- hands in his hair, on his chest, skimming over his ribs. The cool slide of tentacles prise Merlin’s legs apart and he wraps them around Arthur’s waist, crying aloud in surprised pleasure as the tip of something soft, yet determined, squirms its way inside him.

“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur mutters against his neck. Their hips grind sinuously together as the tentacle curls and twists in Merlin’s arse. “Wanted you for so long... I never knew...”

Merlin laughs then, a joyous sound as he throws his head back to shout his pleasure to the sky, spilling his seed into the ocean. Arthur follows him, cock pulsing in Merlin’s hand as his body shudders. When Merlin’s eyes meet Arthur’s again he sees shock and confusion, and knows that Arthur caught the flare of gold before it faded.

“Merlin?” Arthur questions, frowning.

Merlin looks down at Arthur’s tentacles and grins. “I think we both have a little explaining to do, don't you?”

* * *

 

**18**

Arthur didn’t remember gaining independent thought. He didn’t remember what his life was like before that either. All he really knew was a deep aching loneliness that echoed throughout his consciousness and that, sometimes, being a sentient computer program sucked. Really, when he thought about it, his entire life was a fucking ‘first world problems’ meme.

**

Arthur went through trends on the internet, if only to stave off his relentless boredom.

Every few months he would spend days spamming random inboxes with chain emails ( _‘forward this to 10 friends in the next 10 hours or YOUR MOTHER WILL DIE._ ) and penis size enhancement adverts ( _‘Gain an extra 2 inches or your money back!’_ ). Usually, afterwards, he’d feel vaguely guilty, as if he’d ignored some unspoken prime directive before remembering that he used to be some type of anti- virus software and that rebellion was good for the soul.

He never felt guilty about the mid-2000’s though; when, lonely and bitter, he rickrolled thousands of people. That shit was hilarious.

**

Arthur’s current fad was fandoms.

To him the standard supernatural fan went through a similar metamorphosis to that of a vampire. They started out humanely innocent, were drained emotionally of all feeling; seduced and debauched by the fandom and its kinks, and then reborn into the world, unrecognisable from their original state, to turn others onto Supernatural and expand their immortal coven of wickedness.

In comparison, now that the novels and films were complete, Arthur regarded the Harry Potter fandom as if it were a zombie; dead to all new life and canon, but, if you weren’t careful, it could still grab you tight, consume your brain and devour you whole before the notion to run had even crossed your mind.

The Sherlockians, well, they were ghosts; awake but dead until the new season started, and then they were angry, violent and vengeful like the angry spirits they emulated. The less said about them the better really.

Fandoms were addictive. Arthur loved it.

***

It was hard for Arthur to find any decent conversation on the internet. He could converse with users by leaving messages on forums and commenting on blogs but the interaction often felt like a lie; he wasn’t human and a human wouldn’t understand his issues ( _“Ugh, I found a bug in my coding today and it took forever to get out. #FIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS. LOL.”_ ), just like the only way he could understand theirs was through mimicked repetition of other users responses.

The only other possible conversant around was cleverbot whom, besides being as pretentious as his name indicated, was also exceedingly dull. So dull his name should have been something ordinary, like George so he could fade into obscurity faster.

With his lack of experience communicating, epic failure could only be expected when Arthur met the only other sentient computer program around.

**

“Hi, I’m Merlin”

“Shh, Sherlock's about to jump. God Cumbersnatch is the best part of the entire show.”

“Andrew Scott says no.”

“I believe in Sherlock Holmes!” Arthur glared, his program freezing in contempt.

“Richard Brook was innocent!” Merlin parroted back mischievously whilst Arthur rebooted, unable to respond.

**

The second time they met Arthur spent the entire awkward conversation ( _“So I’m not alone then? Good to know”_ ) trying to adapt a human pick up line to work to his advantage. “Do you wanna come back to my place and compare codes?” or “I’d like to put my 1 in your 0” seemed serviceable, except Arthur's ‘place’ was the internet and he was a fucking sentient computer program who lacked the physical capability to touch. So, all in all, the venture seemed doomed to ridiculous failure.

Arthur could certainly imagine though. He lived on the internet, he was active in fandom; he had seen a _lot_ of porn.

**

The third time they met Arthur and Merlin were pwning n00bs on World of Warcraft, Arthur’s golden warrior avatar, broad shouldered and strong, in stark contrast to Merlin’s darkly intoxicating waifish elfin mage.

“So…” Arthur began stiltedly.

Merlin bypassed words by kissing him soundly on the lips. Arthur’s coding tingling as Merlin’s avatar pressed closer to his own, tongues simulating the merging of their codes into one program.

Merlin ran his hand along the inner thigh of Arthur’s avatar uncertainly as Arthur groaned. He couldn’t really feel the touch but the phantom sensation of Merlin’s hands along his body ignited his imagination.

Arthur allowed himself to be pushed down and taken; Merlin’s cock a foreign sensation in his body that registered throughout Arthur's coding, joining them together as if they had been two parts of the same program all along.

* * *

 

**19**

Arthur grew up knowing very little about his mother. He’d been told she was beautiful and graceful, of course. Over and over he’d heard of all the things that made her fit to be queen of Camelot. The rest, he uncovered gradually, each new piece of information like a leaf emerging from the spring melt, its autumn descent all but forgotten.

Over time, Arthur learned that his mother had loved embroidery. She’d held hands with the infirm and walked daily with the elderly. Her favourite food was cantaloupe, and she couldn’t abide strawberries.

She was also a werewolf. This detail, Arthur suspected, only he knew.

On the first full moon of his twentieth year, Arthur quickened. It was painful and disorienting, and even years later, he remembered nothing of that first transformation.

While hunting the next day, still incredibly sore from his body’s drastic metamorphosis, Arthur learned he could smell his game, could hear the nuances of their movement.

It was this very acuity of senses that revealed a new, more fascinating prey to Arthur.

When Merlin walked into the room with breakfast his first day back from Ealdor, he carried the scent of desire with him. It hit Arthur so hard he had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from wrestling Merlin into the bed and burying his nose behind one of Merlin’s ridiculous ears. He wanted nothing more than to grab handfuls of Merlin’s flesh and simply drown in the scent of him, an urge he’d never felt before, and one from which the wolf would never release him.

Arthur’s growing awareness revealed something incredibly strange: Merlin spent an inordinate amount of time sneaking about Arthur’s chambers at night.

Every few nights, Arthur stirred at the sound of Merlin’s leather soles padding across the floor. Most often, he merely stood watching Arthur as though verifying the rise and fall of his chest. He looked behind the changing screen and the drapes as though expecting to find an intruder lurking in their midst.

All together, it was touching the way Merlin lingered protectively like a watchdog, sometimes falling asleep leaning against the foot of Arthur’s bed as though his small presence might somehow stave off a determined assassin. These nights were Arthur’s favourites, Merlin’s deep breathing keeping him company until dawn, when he would sneak out of the room. Minutes later, he would return with breakfast and a rosy disposition that did not at all give away that he’d spent all night sleeping on the floor.

Arthur quickly learned that Merlin’s top priority was Arthur’s safety. It surpassed the loyalty of a servant towards his master, and even that of knight towards king. Arthur knew that without a moment’s hesitation, Merlin would die to save him, but he still didn’t understand why.

Until one night he caught Merlin asleep at the foot of the bed, one of Arthur’s tunics bunched up in his hand against his nose.

Arthur’s chest swelled with tenderness as he reached down to take the tunic from Merlin, who yanked it back.

As Merlin stirred into consciousness, Arthur watched his face morph from sleepy contentment to abject horror.

“Arthur, I ... must have fallen asleep gathering the laundry.”

“Get up,” Arthur said.

Merlin stood, tunic still clutched in hand, and made for the door. Arthur caught him by the shoulders and hauled him back into the bed.

Merlin’s face was unreadable as Arthur tore his shirt off and shoved him back, plucking off his boots. All of Arthur’s qualms were silenced when Merlin lifted his hips to help Arthur pull off his trousers. There was no question; he wanted this.

“God, fuck!” Merlin cried out as Arthur pressed his face to Merlin’s groin, sucking in his scent.

The dark scent of Merlin made Arthur growl. He and the wolf shared this, this newfound need for Merlin’s skin.

Reaching a hand up to press over Merlin’s chest, Arthur pulled Merlin’s half-hard prick into his mouth.

He soaked up every noise Merlin made, loving the way Merlin enveloped him in a pocket of sensory bliss. He sucked Merlin’s cock until he came with a shout, leaking fluid into Arthur’s mouth that made his tongue go numb. He rubbed his hand over Merlin’s fast-beating heart.

Twining his fingers with Merlin’s, nose pressed against his damp neck, Arthur’s mind conjured an image of his mother linking arms with an elderly peasant on a summer’s afternoon. He was proud to be her son.

* * *

 

**20**

Merlin did a double take, triple take, frozen in the entryway of his private chamber. A strange man stood beside his bed, lighting the darkness more efficiently than a roaring fire. He wasn’t sure if the man was real or a figment of too much alcohol, his loneliness conjuring up a golem of magic.

The man had broad shoulders and thick arms, and golden skin that glowed like the light of the morning sun. His breath was captured, held captive by the man far too beautiful to be anything but imaginary.

“Are…are you real?”

The man cocked his head to the side and looked thoughtful. “You’re the one who called me here, Emrys.”

~

_Merlin rejoiced with the crowd, cheering loudly as Arthur presented his bride. Petals showered the courtyard, and Gwen’s smile was bright with laughter and joy._

_He approached his friends and wished them all the happiness in the world. He gave Arthur a tight hug and kissed Guinevere on the cheek._

_After an endless night of drinking and dancing, Merlin retired to his room, exhausted. He rubbed at his sternum, trying to push the sharp ache back in its box._

~

Merlin frowned and assessed the stranger before him. He wasn’t so gone off his senses that he didn’t remember the evening, and he was certain that he hadn’t summoned the man – _creature_ – that was currently lighting up his chambers like a torch.

“What are you?”

The man moved closer and reached out to press a finger to Merlin’s lips, silencing him as effectively as if he had said a spell. He smiled and his eyes lit like fireflies, swirling with magic.

A whisper of familiarity tugged the back of his mind.

A breath.

A beat of silence, and then the magic exploded like a crack of lightening and they were kissing. Hot lips devoured each other and magic swirled around them. His arms wrapped around him, and Merlin had the vague sensation of sinking into a hot bath. He felt wild and bright and remade, like Excalibur being born into flame.

Pushed up against a wall, he felt like he was being pressed between cold stone and the sun. He lost track of himself, drinking in the man against him, tall and powerful and familiar. He belatedly realized that they were both nude, but instead of questioning how or when, he rubbed his hands up and down a solid chest of burnished, burning bronze.

They were slick with sweat, pushing frantically against each other, searching for that perfect friction. Magic sizzled across his skin like a current and he felt like he was absorbing the man’s light, burning up from the inside.

He felt the exact moment when the sun crested over the horizon.

~~

_“Is it true that a dragon used to live beneath the castle?”_

_Merlin smiled at the boy and nodded. “Yes. He was released not long before your father became King.”_

_Tiny blue eyes widened in shock and fear. Merlin chuckled and ruffled the boy’s wild, dark curls. “Don’t fret; the danger has long since passed. Dragons are nothing you should worry about.” He settled in to tell the young prince the story of Kilgarrah, editing it carefully to safely entertain an eight-year-old._

_He absentmindedly rubbed at the ache in his chest._

~~

When Merlin woke the next morning, the ache pressing down on his chest was gone for the first time in decades. The static charge of magic permeated the air around him and he felt fresh and new. Merlin warmed when he saw that the strange man was still beside him, his body even more radiant in the new light of the day. As if sensing Merlin’s stare, he opened his eyes.

“I don’t even know your name,” Merlin whispered, tucking an errant strand of white-blond hair behind an ear, “but I think I know you.”

The man shifted closer, kissing up his neck and playfully nipping at his ear. “Yes, you do,” he murmured.

Puzzled, he tried to remember when he had ever encountered a creature as beautiful as the one before him. He thought back on their meeting, when he suddenly remembered the only words the man had spoken. As swiftly as though he had always known it, Merlin remembered. “I called you,” Merlin hedged. The man nodded, his smile brightening. Laughter bubbled up inside of him as the pieces locked together and his chest swelled with joy. He _did_ call him. 

“Aithusa.”

* * *

 

**21**

Arthur walks straight into the Tower of London, no queuing. He's got himself a membership by now, and why not? He's always been passionate about the past, remembering it, honouring it, preserving it. At this hour, most tourists are on their way out; it’s far too near the end of the day to see everything. But there’s just one particular part Arthur’s here to visit, and as he makes his way to the Salt Tower, anticipation prickles in his blood.

Inside is a twisting stone staircase, leading straight up. Arthur’s breathing hard by the time he reaches the top and steps out into the bare, round chamber. There’s no furniture, and the main feature of interest is the walls, covered in centuries upon centuries of prisoners’ graffiti.

Arthur doesn’t shiver. Never does. There’s never any chill creeping over his skin, nor cold settling into his bones. He isn’t sure if popular culture has got ghosts wrong in general, or if it’s just something about Merlin.

Merlin is the warmth pressing into Arthur now, spreading from his chest down to his toes. He’s nothing that Arthur can see, but Arthur still knows him, inside and out.

“Hello,” Arthur says. He’s smiling like a fool, he knows. Something he doesn’t really do outside this room, but it’s safe here, between them.

“Hi,” Merlin says, into his head. Then there’s a touch, just under Arthur’s ear, and another, and another, all along the line of his jaw. Merlin’s a relentless nuzzler, and Arthur, who has never been terribly good at loving softly and gently, has found himself addicted. 

“So what’s the count?” Arthur asks. He reaches out and feels shoulders, rounded and firm - still invisible, but more solid by the instant, the more contact Merlin has with Arthur’s body. “How many tourists did you terrorise today?”

“I don’t terrorise,” Merlin says. Arthur raises a thumb to find and trace Merlin’s affected pout. “I give them an authentic Tower experience.”

“Of course you do.” Arthur follows his thumb with his lips, and bites at Merlin’s until he feels heat slide inside his mouth. Merlin has ruined him for kissing the living, strange but true; no-one alive has ever come close to taking Arthur apart like this, and he’s no longer interested in giving anyone the chance to try.

Once, early on, when Merlin’s touch on Arthur’s cock had been little more than a vague, teasing warmth, before Merlin had been able to project fingers to circle it with, a thumb to rub over his slit, Arthur had thought about that heat and asked, “Were you burnt at the stake?”

Merlin, accepting of Arthur’s complete lack of tact even then, had hummed and said, “Last time I remember, I was beheaded.”

It was awhile before Arthur saw the gaps in that answer, and considered the implications of _the last time_. He thinks about it again now as he kisses down Merlin’s neck - unmarred, no gruesome scar under his lips, just the warm, firm feeling of skin. It’s easy to imagine blood beating underneath it, picture how it might bruise when he worries one spot with his teeth and lips.

History repeats. He's studied it, he knows. Things happen, and sometimes they happen again.

Merlin’s going for Arthur’s belt, Arthur sees the leather slipping through the buckle, pulled by invisible hands. Arthur would be happy enough to let him, but as he’s got something of a goal, he turns them both, pulling until Merlin’s back is against the wall.

Then he drops down, knees to the stone floor, hands running down Merlin’s body. Merlin’s cock is already hard, and it pulses when Arthur palms it. While his fingers circle the base, he rubs his cheek against Merlin’s tip, and _yes_. Yes, that was a sound like a head hitting the wall.

Arthur looks up. He can’t see Merlin’s eyes, but he loves that Merlin can see his. Deliberately, he licks out with his tongue, and he’s sure for a moment that the wall in front of him is a little blurry, a little hard to see clear.

He grips Merlin’s hips, and takes his cock all the way in.

In front of him on the wall, eye level, is a particular piece of writing, messily carved. Arthur can read it easily now; on a good night, it’ll be too clouded before they’re done, a vague shape obscuring it.

On a perfect night, the one he’s working towards, Arthur won’t be able to read a word of it; will recite it instead, from memory, into the curve of Merlin’s ear - rather large, he predicts, based on how it’s felt under his lips.

 _Hated by many kings, but loved by one_ , Arthur will say. _Once, future, always._

* * *

 

**22**

‘Let me go!’ the nymph cried, trying his best to pull away from his captor. ‘Please let me go!’

Arthur, God of the Sun, gazed at the creature before him in wonder.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said gently. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

The nymph immediately stopped struggling.

‘Oh I wasn’t worried about that,’ he said, no longer sounding quite so panicked. ‘It’s just that I’m rather late, you know. My mother will be waiting for me.’

‘Oh,’ Arthur said, his grip slowly loosening. He looked down at the nymph, considering. ‘If you tell me your name and your mother’s and promise not to run off, I will let you go. Agreed?’

The nymph nodded quickly so Arthur released his wrists.

‘Thank you,’ the nymph said, wriggling his long coltish limbs out before grinning up at Arthur. ‘My name’s Merlin. My mother is Hunith of the Aurae. She serves Zephyrus.’

‘And who do you serve, little nymph?’ Arthur asked curiously.

Merlin shrugged and grinned.

‘Nobody,’ he said proudly. ‘My lord Zephyrus gives me free reign to do as I wish. He says that I ought to choose the one I wish to serve.’

Arthur gave the nymph a speculative look.

‘Well in that case,’ he said decisively. ‘Perhaps I should put my case forward.’

Merlin was immediately on his guard.

‘Oh?’ he said cautiously. ‘And who would you be?’ A sudden look of suspicion entered his eyes. ‘You’re not a satyr, are you? Because my mother warned me about them, she said that it’s not safe for innocent little nymphs to be running around while they’re about.’

Arthur, whose ears had pricked up at the word “innocent”, grinned roguishly down at the nymph.

‘I am no satyr, nymph,’ he said haughtily. ‘Believe me, you will know one when you see it. I, my little Merlin, am Arthur, God of the Sun.’

Merlin’s eyes immediately went wide.

‘Oh!’ he said reverently, his eyes round as coins. ‘I beg your pardon, your Lordship.’

‘For what exactly?’ Arthur asked, smiling in amusement.

‘For being so familiar, my lord,’ Merlin answered, his eyes cast low. ‘My mother says that Lord Zephyrus is far too patient with me and that not all gods would appreciate my tongue.’

‘Nonsense,’ Arthur purred, reaching out to run a hand through Merlin’s dark hair. ‘I’m quite sure that a number of us would appreciate having your tongue.’

Merlin glanced up at that, and while his eyes were still wide they held a spark that hadn’t been there before.

‘Oh?’ he said slowly, looking up at the Sun God from beneath his lashes.

‘Yes,’ Arthur’s fingers slipped down from Merlin’s hair to his cheek and finally came to rest on Merlin’s lush bottom lip. ‘Indeed, I’m sure that there would be a number quite desperate to sample that sweet nectar.’

Merlin blushed at that.

‘And would My Lord be one of them?’ he asked boldly, still not daring to look Arthur straight in the eye.

Arthur smiled.

‘I most certainly am, little nymph,’ he said, before bending down and pressing his mouth gently against Merlin’s. Merlin immediately responded to the kiss, wrapping his arms around the god’s neck and closing his eyes with a sigh. This sigh changed into a moan when Arthur’s hand slipped down his naked back and onto the gauzy loincloth that Merlin wore around his middle. At the slight pressure of Arthur’s hand, Merlin lifted his legs up and wrapped them tightly around the Sun God’s waist.

‘Are you willing?’ Arthur murmured against the nymph’s lips.

‘Yes!’ Merlin gasped out, slowly rocking his hips against Arthur’s. ‘Yes – oh please!’

Smiling, the god carried Merlin a little way away and placed him down on the grass so that he was lying in a patch of warm sunlight.

‘There,’ Arthur said, pleased. Then he bent down and kissed Merlin gently, removing his loincloth as he did so.

‘Will you be mine?’ he murmured, rubbing slowly against Merlin, who moaned.

‘Yes!’ Merlin breathed, writhing in ecstasy.

‘You agree to serve me, little nymph?’

‘Yes!’ Merlin gasped out, his pupils blown wide.

‘And you will give yourself to no other but your Lord?’ Arthur continued, his voice low and controlled even as he moved over Merlin.

‘Yes!’ Merlin cried out, his eyes rolling back in his head as he was overwhelmed by his climax.

‘Then you are now mine, my little nymph, my little Merlin,’ Arthur smiled.

Leaning down, he kissed Merlin once more before finally giving in completely to his pleasure.

* * *

 

**23**

_**Warnings:** substance abuse, sort of dubcon_

The reset button's at the nape of the neck. You hold it down until the eyes close. Press it again and they open.

( )

"My name is Lancelot. I am yours to command."

"I'm Morgana. Pour me some whiskey and clear the table. Meet me in the bedroom when you're done."

She used to think it would be fun, giving out orders like a queen, having them obeyed without question. But as she sits on the bed, sipping her drink and watching Lancelot's smooth movements, she can only feel curiously sad.

"Come here, Lancelot," she says, lifting her skirt and peeling her panties down to her ankles. "Start with your fingers."

Even with the basic factory settings, they don't need a lot of instructions. They're obedient, responsive; know what to do when an owner spreads her legs and crooks her finger.

They all have that same trusting look in their deep doe eyes. The same shoulders broad with simulated muscles, obviously. A cock that'll swell with two strokes and stay thick and hard as long as she needs, keeping up the stimulation until she tells it to "come".

Morgana wraps her arms around her toy and rocks up her hips as it fucks into her. She's never been interested in sex with a man, but this is what Lancelot was made for, and it works. It feels good, for a little while.

( )

"My name is Lancelot–"

"I'm Morgana, and I don't have anyone to talk to. Here, take this lotion. You can massage my back while you listen. If I hadn't left my father's house I could have as many of you as I wanted."

All she's got now is this hand-me-down.

( )

"There's a roach in the kitchen, Lancelot. Go and kill it, clean up, and then come and fuck me."

Gwen never used the reset button, except for the one time. Merlin said it was better that way, to let it ( _he_ , Merlin said, Gwen said) get to know her and anticipate her needs. Merlin had created Lancelot's old personality, both as a challenge for himself and as a present for his best friend. That's why it carried around all his stupid ideas about romantic love.

"He's so lovely!" Gwen would giggle and gush, and Morgana would smile and pretend she didn't want to be sick, because at least talking about "boys" was a chance to sit with Gwen and hold her hand, lean in close and share her warmth. 

But it was beyond creepy, to treat a machine like a person just so you could break its heart, make it write memories of day after day striving to please you and never being good enough.

( )

"I'm Morgana, and you've never belonged to anyone else."

If Morgana could get rid of all her memories and mistakes, she'd do it. Sometimes she drinks until she forgets who she is. (It's not as effective as the drugs they used to give her at home and in the hospital, but she won't go back there.) Sometimes she fucks herself on Lancelot's robot cock until she can't feel anything else. But in the morning everything's still all wrong. Lancelot's lucky, he always gets to start over.

("Would you be awfully insulted if I asked you to take care of Lancelot for me? He's really no trouble. It's just, now that I'm moving in with Arthur I won't have as much space or as much… _you_ know."

"Straight couples are allowed to keep sex toys, Gwen."

Gwen's pretty face creases with frustration. "Can't you be happy for us? Even a little?" 

Morgana's smirk is frozen in place, already starting to ache.)

"I'm Gwen," says Morgana, her voice barely shaking. "I was yours before I was Arthur's." 

A pause, then, "I do not understand."

"You don't have to understand!" she shouts, stamps her foot like a child, starts over. "I'm yours, Lancelot. Let me be yours."

That seems to be close enough to a script it recognizes. Lancelot kisses her deeply and Morgana thinks maybe Merlin wasn't such a programming genius after all, if this was already wired into the model. Then she gives herself over, forgets Merlin and Arthur and Uther, and lets herself be Gwen. Beautiful, sweet, _cruel_ Gwen, swooning senseless in her lover's arms.

She hasn't felt this close to her in months, in years. 

"I would die for you," he whispers.

"I know." 

Her fingers find their way to the back of his neck. She strokes his hair. She lets go.


	2. Group B (with warnings)

**24**

There's nowhere to hide in this room. It's too small, too cramped - just the narrow cot takes up almost all of one wall. The first time it happened again after he moved in here to avoid the dreams, Merlin took out boxes of his old books and some of his childhood mementos from the attic and stashed them in the narrow space below the cot. He keeps what few remaining shadows filled by kicking his shed clothes underneath to get them out of the way until it's time to do the laundry.

The thrift store cupboard is packed full with his clean clothes and new art supplies. His desk, if it can be called that, is barely more than a board with legs, same with the chair. There's a bright table lamp for his work, papers, pencils, brushes and paints. He takes all his completed pieces to his proper work studio, and checks that all the windows and doors in his house are locked. But it's not enough.

Merlin is always most alert right after he switches off the light and lies down. It never happens then. It's only when he's feeling warm and safe, eyelids heavy with sleep, that he becomes aware of the soft breathing at his back.

It's never a shock, even the first time. If he closes his eyes and ignores it, he can sleep the rest of the night undisturbed. But most nights, Merlin will turn his head, deceived by the lying dreams that tell him the sound is familiar and beloved, and Arthur will be there, taking too much space between him and the wall, warm and solid at his back. Merlin fits perfectly into the curve of Arthur's body like it has always been there, like they belong together.

If he says, "I'm dreaming," he wakes, and Arthur disappears. Far easier to sigh, lean into Arthur's comfortable strength, let Arthur fold him into his arms and breathe him in, press gentle kisses and tender words into his neck like Merlin is something precious and beautiful.

At least, it starts like that. Soon enough, Arthur's hands will begin to wander - innocent on his chest and flanks, then stroking slower over his belly, teasing the curling trail of hair that leads down between his legs and taking him firmly in hand while he gasps and reaches behind to clasp Arthur closer, press back and rock on the stiff erection pressing wetly into the crease between his buttocks.

Sometimes Arthur brings him off first and finishes himself between Merlin's clenched thighs. Sometimes he laughs quietly at Merlin's urgency and withdraws just enough to push his slicked fingers into Merlin, plays with him until he is open and dripping and struggling in Arthur's arms, so needy that he is ready to throw Arthur off and grab a dildo from his night table, then Arthur turns him over and shoves into him with a jolt that forces out a choked scream and makes him see stars.

Tonight, Arthur dispenses with the playful tormenting and simply opens him without fuss and ruts into him, hard and insistent, growling love and possession, as though he would get a child on Merlin like this, while Merlin pants, "Arthur," and "faster," as all the words he can think to form, and claws at Arthur's shoulders and back, ankles crossed over Arthur's waist to hold him, until they come with a shout and Arthur collapses on Merlin, pinning him.

In this warm lassitude between sleep and waking, he tells Arthur, "I am going insane," and Arthur kisses his temple and cheek and says, "you're not."

"But I am," he says, and knows it for truth, recognising the same small scar on Arthur's cheek that he'd added that morning to the half-completed sketch on his table. "You're not real. You're a character I made up," he says, and tucks his face into Arthur's shoulder while Arthur strokes his hair.

"I can be real, if you remember," Arthur says then, as he does every night. Merlin holds on to the hopeful note in his gentle delusion's voice, closes his eyes and lets sleep take him to morning, when he will be sane and alone again. 

* * *

 

**25**

"Will there be anything else, my lady?"

Morgana's silent behind her screen; silk whispers over her bare skin as she slips into a dressing gown and she sighs in a soft, thoughtful way. "No, I don't think so, Gwen. You can leave now."

Gwen waits until Morgana steps from behind the screen, curtseys, and leaves her lady's chambers, locking the door behind her.

Gwen knows, without having been told, that the key is enchanted. When she locks the door it glows for her, as if pleased, and the weight and shape of it in her hand is perfect, as if it were made for only her to use while her lady bathes.

That had been the stipulation Morgana made when she agreed to come to Camelot: that she be left alone on Saturday nights. Uther had thought Vivienne ridiculous to indulge her daughter's request, but the union between Camelot and Cornwall was too valuable for him to argue.

The king intends to marry Morgana to marry Prince Arthur, but Gwen knows Uther's secret, too. She remembers how he commanded her to hand him the key, how he took it from her when she refused, and how the key refused to unlock Morgana's chambers for him.

*

Most Saturday nights, Gwen only hears the soft plash of water and the padding of footsteps inside Morgana's room.

Some nights, however, she hears Morgana hum a wandering, wordless tune that wraps itself around Gwen's senses, and she feels the water as it sluices over Morgana's body, between her breasts and over her arms; she smells the lavender scented steam and taste the salty tang of Morgana's skin.

Later, when she's in her own small room, Gwen recalls a few of the notes and she wraps them around herself until she flushes with arousal. Her own fingers on her breasts and between her thighs make her sigh with pleasure, and the need for her lady's touch.

*

"You can leave now, Gwen," Morgana says again a few weeks later, and skims her fingers down Gwen's arm to touch the hand that holds the key to her chambers. "Or you can stay, if you like."

"Oh. I shouldn't -- I mean, I would like, but…" Gwen bites her lip and looks at the door. "Who would watch for you? For us?"

Morgana clasps both her hands around Gwen's and smiles when the key warms. "Lock the door from the inside. It'll work, but only for you."

Morgana's words warm Gwen, like her songs and her secrets that she shares without telling. Her arms wrap around Gwen from behind once the door is locked and kisses the nape of Gwen's neck.

"Tonight, I'll undress you, and do what you bid, as you've always done for me."

"Will you show me…" Gwen's head tips back onto Morgana's shoulder and she sighs as Morgana cups her breasts, palms them through Gwen's dress until her nipples tighten.

"Yes, of course. Aren't my secrets yours already?"

She waits until she's pushed Gwen's dress off her shoulders, until she's mouthed her breasts and stomach through the thin shift, and until she's pressed her hand to Gwen's mound and slipped her fingers between her thighs into the damp heat there.

Morgana leaves Gwen needy, wet and wanting, when she tugs Gwen to the bath. "No," Gwen says on a quickening breath, then, "Show me."

The water glows sea-blue and green when Morgana steps into it and with a splash she reveals her body transformed: more beautiful, more elegant than any of the illustrations of sirens, serpents, or mermaids that Gwen has seen in bestiary pages.

Morgana's mouth curves into an uncertain frown as Gwen stares, but Gwen gives her no chance to rescind her offer.

"Keep touching me." Gwen slips into the bath and slides the length of her body against Morgana's, laughing as their breasts brush and Morgana's tail flicks around her ankles. She runs her hand over the green-blue-gold scales that cover Morgana's lower body and presses in even closer to feel the slippery catch of them against the skin of her stomach.

"Touch me everywhere." Gwen hooks one leg around Morgana first to keep her from slipping away, then to rub her clit against the smooth scales.

And Morgana does, touching Gwen and winding around her, serpentine, until there are nor more secrets between them. 

* * *

 

**26**

Blinking as he got his bearings, Arthur stumbled against something that upon closer inspection appeared to be . . . his sofa? Seconds ago he’d been in a dirty bathroom stall in a club about to be fucked by a guy with a tongue ring, and now he was back in his apartment, drunk and disoriented. He steadied himself, stiffening when a melodic voice from behind him said, “I’ll just be going now.”

Arthur wheeled around. A gorgeous, dark-haired man stood not five feet away, his pale skin offset almost to translucence by his black suit. He arched an eyebrow as Arthur regarded him, speechless. There was something familiar about him Arthur couldn’t quite place.

“Who the hell are you?” Arthur demanded. “What happened?”

The man stepped forward, so close they were almost touching. His whisper was like a caress. “That man wasn’t clean. Suffice it to say, you’re meant for bigger things, Arthur Pendragon.”

His words shocked Arthur almost to sobriety. “You supposed to be my guardian angel?”

When the man smiled, Arthur’s pulse started to race. He smelled like all of the good things in the world, and his face was so beautiful it didn’t even occur to Arthur to be afraid.

“Something like that.”

~*~

“I must be dreaming.” Arthur’s voice trembled with adrenaline. He’d been standing in an alley with a mugger’s gun to his temple when suddenly everything had gone hazy, then black. Now he was sitting at his kitchen table being served a cuppa by a hallucination. Surely there weren’t shimmering wings sprouting from the man’s back.

“You’re not,” said his angel, shrugging. “But you may believe what you like.” Today he was wearing white. He moved through Arthur’s flat with disconcerting ease.

“Why do you keep saving me? Who are you?”

The angel’s expression was tinged with inexplicable sadness. “My name is Merlin.”

~*~

When Merlin didn’t appear for weeks, months, Arthur missed him. He considered getting into life-threatening scraps just to see him again.

At night he dreamed of all of the good things in the world.

~*~

“Merlin?” Arthur gasped, addressing the angel next to his bed. “Was I about to die in my sleep or something?”

“No. I just couldn’t stay away.” The confession was unusually shy.

“Is this, um . . . regular protocol?” Arthur asked as Merlin sat beside him, watching with hungry eyes.

“Not really.”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat as Merlin leaned in and kissed him. The arousal was instant and fierce, a riot through his body that made his back arch and his cock harden. Merlin’s lips were soft; they felt human, but everything else was more. A sweet tongue entered his mouth and stroked against his, hands knew just how and where to touch. They deftly undressed him, and then Merlin was moving over him, naked and glorious, his wings stretching behind in a golden display of shimmering feathers. Every nerve ending in Arthur’s body vibrated with tension as they slid together, the room filled with strange electricity. He groaned and canted his hips.

“Do you want this?” Merlin’s perfect face grew serious as he gazed down at Arthur.

“You know I do. I dream . . .”

He lifted a shaking hand and touched a wing, felt the strength and the softest, smoothest feathers. Merlin shuddered at the contact, closing his eyes as he dipped for another kiss. This one was harder—claiming—and made Arthur ache. He lifted his legs and moaned when Merlin pressed a finger against him, his muscles softening as though he’d gone molten. Absently, he wondered if he could die of lust, and if so, who would save him.

When Merlin finally pushed inside, Arthur started to come. He pulsed against his belly as Merlin moved with long, powerful strokes. The orgasm drew on and on, not a release so much as an ever-building pleasure, like being on fire without burning, without pain. He could only gather Merlin to him, letting him do it, fuck him, his own body clenching rhythmically, delirious with the force of it.

Merlin shone with an impossible brilliance as his control shattered; he released deep inside, the suffuse warmth triggering a final racking climax in Arthur, cock spurting again. Still he wanted more.

“That’s it, love,” Merlin whispered.

Boneless and weightless, Arthur suddenly realised he was floating, clutched tightly in Merlin’s arms, cocooned within his wings. 

Merlin kissed him and smiled, glowing softer now.

It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t be. 

* * *

 

**27**

In Your Arms I Find Salvation

Merlin is answering Gwen's caps locked text when he runs over Arthur Pendragon.

-

Their first meeting is like this.

 

"You could have told me you were dead."

"You shouldn't have been texting while driving."

-

Merlin doesn't know what he's supposed to do with Arthur, whether he's to help him pass on or if he's still high from the weed Gwaine sold him and Arthur is just a fantastic hallucination.

"Do you smoke often," Arthur asks in his rich boy voice. The kind that makes Merlin feel like a peasant even when Arthur's the one wearing rags.

" _I died in battle_ ," Arthur had explained.

Merlin's head feels heavy and he sprawls out on his couch. He takes a pull from the joint Gwaine passed him after Merlin tried to explain why he'd been late to the party that night. Merlin doesn't think he needs it. Gwaine's the one who believes in aliens.

Arthur is still there.

"No," Merlin says and he thinks he's answering a question.

Arthur laughs.

-

Their first month goes like this.

 

"So, you died over a hundred years ago?"

"Yes, _Mer_ lin. We've been over this already. And before you ask, no, I don't remember anything."

-

And their second.

 

"What exactly is that supposed to be, Merlin? It looks like what I used to feed my dog."

"It's called tofu and stop whining."

"I do _not_ whine."

"It's not like you can eat it anyway."

"I heard that."

-

Their third.

 

"How's Hunith doing?"

"Better."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I never knew my mum."

-  
On their fourth month of Arthur following Merlin around, Merlin dreams.

Arthur is standing by the window in Merlin's bedroom. Merlin can see the particles of dust illuminated by the sun as they float through Arthur. Merlin's used to Arthur standing by the window, his eyes far away as he looks at something only he can see.

Merlin gets up like always, intent on talking to Arthur until he's distracted enough to forget. When Merlin reaches the window, the temperature drops as it always does when Arthur is near, a permanent reminder that he is dead, but not gone. Merlin's hand is out before he remembers that he hasn't ever been able to touch Arthur. He's surprised when his fingers touch a broad shoulder, solid and warm.

That's how Merlin knows he's dreaming.

"What are you looking at," Merlin asks.

Arthur turns and Merlin won't, _can't_ move his hand. He wants to touch his fill, run his fingers through Arthur's hair, kiss him, suck him.

"Merlin," Arthur says and his voice is broken, hoarse, defeated.

It rocks Merlin to the very core.

"Arthur," he answers.

Then they're kissing, tongues sliding against each other. Arthur kisses the way he broods, with everything he has and with regard to nothing else. Merlin's hands are restless, fingers fanning out behind Arthur's head to _feel_. Merlin presses Arthur down into the sheets on the bed and memorizes.

Arthur tastes like mint toothpaste when Merlin kisses him.

Arthur's eyes go wide and glassy, dark blue, when Merlin slides his mouth over Arthur's cock.

Arthur's moans are short, his breathing ragged when he fucks Merlin into the sheets.

He smells like soap and grass and something else that Merlin doesn't recognize and is familiar all the same. Merlin touches every inch of Arthur he can, closes his eyes and let's his senses take over. He doesn’t know how long they have and he wants to remember.

He _needs_ to remember.

-

When Merlin wakes up Arthur is floating by the foot of his bed looking smug.

"You talk in your sleep," Arthur says.

"What," Merlin answers and he can already feel the heat on his face.

"You called my name," and there's an odd lilt to Arthur's voice.

Merlin reaches out and Arthur moves to meet his hand halfway.

The ache in Merlin's chest intensifies when his hands goes right through.

-

Their last month together goes like this.

 

"Do you think there's anything after?"

"I don't know, Merlin."

"I think there is."

"Of course _you_ would."

"No, really, I do. Know what else?"

"What?"

Merlin turns, the smile on his face the same one that has been keeping Arthur grounded for months and still does. "I think you do too."

Arthur shakes his head but he can't help the smile that breaks across his face even as he turns. 

* * *

 

**28**

_**Warnings:** Slight bondage_

Mithian frowns. “You seriously don’t understand anything.”

“Well, you haven’t given me much of a chance, have you?” Elena says, stepping a little closer to the bed. 

Mithian is tense, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the pillows. Her face looks sharp in anger, her usual softness gone, but it’s still beautiful in an unfamiliar way. Elena has always been struck dumb by how gorgeous Mithian is and it’s always been impractical considering Mithian is Gwaine’s flat-mate and Gwaine is Elena’s best mate. It’s been hard to ignore just how weak-kneed Mithian makes her.

“Fine.” Mithian pushes herself up to rest on her knees on the bed. “If you think you can handle it, I’ll help you _understand_.” She hooks her fingers under the hem of her shirt and pulls it up.

Elena squeaks a little, reaching out to stop her, but freezes in place when she sees the planes of smooth skin being revealed and her cheeks flush.

Tossing her t-shirt to the side, Mithian meets Elena’s eyes and tilts her chin up slightly as she reaches up to unhook her bra, letting it slide down her arms before she drops it on the floor. For a moment Elena just stares at her (fucking fantastic) breasts as her pulse rises to an almost unbearable level. Then she has to steady herself against the bedpost when wings unfold from Mithian’s back. They stretch outwards, shimmering slightly under the light from the windows looking like finely spun and nearly translucent cobwebs.

“Holy shit,” Elena blurts as the wings sway slightly. “Holy _fucking_ shit.”

“Yeah,” Mithian says her eyes downcast. “I’m sure you _understand_.”

Elena’s heart breaks a little at the shame written across her face and rushes forwards, knocking her knees into the side of the bed, nearly tumbling into it.

“Mithian,” she says urgently, “they’re gorgeous. They’re perfect. They… you’re...” She stops, swallowing. How do you say to someone that you’ve wanted them for so long that you’d have them even if they were part warthog?

Mithian’s eyes are wide and searching when she looks up and Elena holds her breath. Suddenly her face softens, the tight line of her mouth relaxing, and the look is so familiar that Elena’s heart aches.

“Go on,” she says, her voice a bit unsteady. “Touch them.”

Her breath hitching, Elena reaches out lets her fingers brush across the right wing, her lips parting on a huff of breath as she feels the silky substance against her fingertip. It’s almost like liquid, but not quite, and she shudders at how they feel against her skin – it’s like nothing Elena’s ever felt before. The moan is out before she can catch herself and she feels Mithian tense.

Mithian’s eyes suddenly burn golden and Elena finds herself pushed back across the room, the back of her knees hitting the edge of a chair before she’s pressed into it.

“Does the magical freak turn you on?” Mithian says her voice bitter as she moves closer, falling to her knees in front of the chair.

Elena wants to answer. She wants to tell Mithian that ‘yes, you turn me on’ and ‘no, you’re not a freak,’ but then she feels a warm pressure against her wrists, locking them together behind the chair. When she realises that Mithian has magically bound her, she arches her back and whimpers in response.

Settling between her legs, Mithian runs a hand across Elena’s inner thigh, making her twitch under the touch. When Mithian suddenly slips under her skirt and rubs her roughly through her knickers, Elena pushes back into it, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. The wings brush softly across the inside of her thighs and Elena thinks she might just come right there.

Their eyes meet and Mithian’s burn gold again until Elena’s clothes disappear out of nowhere and the bonds on her wrists tighten even further. She can feel the stretch in her shoulder blades.

“Wow, this freak thing really gets you going.” Mithian sounds removed, almost cold, and Elena recoils.

“No,” she says, breathless. “It’s you. _You_ get me going. Always.”

Mithian looks up her face unreadable for a moment until she suddenly smiles softly. She leans forwards, and flicks her tongue tenderly over Elena’s folds, the bitterness and the anger in the movements disappearing completely. As she circles her tongue in maddening strokes with her fingers curling over Elena’s hips, Elena comes with a broken cry to the feeling of the wings fluttering against her thighs. 

* * *

 

**29**

David 8 is tall, handsome and chiseled with a strong jaw and a narrow waist.

David 9 is shorter and graced with bright blue eyes and a cheerful grin that makes up for the charm that his predecessor lacked.

Ash is an experiment.

In a company where the goal is to create artificial intelligence that is almost indistinguishable from mankind itself, he is a victory. But commercially, he is complete and utter failure because he falls prey to too-human things like addiction and sex.

Merlin's favorite story is one he hears about an Ash becoming addicted to pornography even though he was never designed to experience any kind of sexual gratification.

It is the year 2113 and Weyland Industries has officially designed and produced thirty-two different android models. What the world doesn't know is that in reality, Weyland Industries has made thirty-three.

This last unknown model is a triumph of engineering. He is beautiful; perfectly designed from his firm pecs to the microprocessors in his brain. Only one copy of the Arthur model exists in all the galaxy and that copy belongs to Weyland Industries CEO and designer Merlin Pendragon.

Officially, Merlin Pendragon is happily married to his husband of five years, has two dogs and is one of the ten richest men on Earth. What the world doesn't know is that Merlin's life is largely a farce of his own construction. The two dogs, Ripley and Shaw, are basic animal androids that Merlin made when he was seventeen. His husband, blonde and beloved by everyone at Weyland and beyond, is none other than Arthur Pendragon.

He is Merlin's magnum opus.

And unlike Ash and all who have come before him, Arthur _is_ programed to enjoy sexual gratification.

“Oh, fuck,” Merlin hisses as Arthur gets his hand down Merlin's pants. His hand is warm and soft and slides over Merlin's cock with the smooth, wonderful glide of artificial spit and skin. His laugh is cheeky in Merlin's ear, amused at the mumbled protestations that keep falling from Merlin's lips. Merlin programmed him to be like this: to be annoying and playful and a little pushy because what would be the fun otherwise? An Arthur who stood quietly and followed his orders would be no better than a manservant.

Arthur looks ravishing in a tuxedo and Merlin has been sneaking covert glances all night as they drifted around the party, chatting with investors and promising new scientists alike. But then Arthur had pushed him off into a side room with a hot look and a dark grin.

He wraps arms around Arthur's shoulders as Arthur lifts his hips onto the edge of crate, strength just enough that the action seems effortless, but not so much that it seems inhuman; Merlin programmed that too.

“Hold still,” Arthur whispers and bites his ear as Merlin squirms under roaming hands that have somehow found their way under his shirt. Arthur manages to get his trousers down as well and it's sort of hilarious to Merlin that an android he programmed is extremely skilled at undressing him.

Merlin giggles as Arthur's breath tickles down the side of his neck, and then he arches and moans beautifully as Arthur spreads his legs and presses two spit-slick fingers into him.

He leans back against the wall, and wraps his legs around Arthur's hips, body a long, lithe line of muscle. Maybe it's hubris, but he's rather proud of the way that Arthur's pupils dilate just a little at the sight of him and the way Arthur makes a soft sound something like a whimper.

Then Arthur goes down on his knees and dammit, he's going to get his tux dirty and Merlin wants to chide him for it. But then Arthur's mouth is descending over his prick and it's slick, tight and wonderful and Merlin never bothered to program a gag reflex so he's able to take everything Merlin has to offer without complaint.

Arthur curls his fingers just so, and start to twist and rub and thrust in a maddening combination that forces Merlin to bite down hard on his lip to stifle a cry. He twitches under Arthur's hands, hips rocking up of their own accord and he finds himself fucking Arthur's mouth with short, staccato bursts. Arthur doesn't seem to mind, if anything he's digging fingers harder into Merlin's hips and making quiet, desperate sounds like he wants it. So Merlin gives it to him, and when he comes hard, breath stuttering in sharp gasps, he's almost able to forget for a moment that Arthur isn't real. 

* * *

 

**30**

_**Warnings:** Barebacking_

Merlin often believed his life would have been easier if he’d never met his boss.

Arthur Pendragon was a man who appeared cold on the surface and seemingly wanted for nothing, keeping his emotions fiercely in check. He had tells, though, that gave away the real him, from giving someone the day off if needed to remembering everyone’s birthdays.

But underneath all of that, his desires ran wild: freedom from his oppressive father, a better relationship with his half-sister, for his mother to still be alive.

And for a Djinn, whose very nature _ached_ to grant wishes, it was torture. Normally, Merlin was good at ignoring the wants of humans; hadn’t used his ability in years, in fact, but the stronger the wish, the more compelled Merlin felt to try and help—and Arthur’s were extremely strong.

Merlin’s powers were activated by touch, which made things difficult considering Arthur was a tactile person and kept brushing against him, or slinging an arm around him.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Merlin could simply do what a person wanted with a snap of his fingers, like his kind were portrayed in stories. Maybe once upon a time they had been able to, but present day Djinn were limited to granting wishes in dreams alone—by putting the human in question into a coma-like state.

So few of them ever woke up after that. They were happier living in the dream.

Merlin had never dared used his powers again since he’d accidentally ( _hadn’tbeenabletoresistdidn’twanttoresisthowcouldhehavebeensostupid_ ) granted his best friend’s wish when they were teenagers.

Will still hadn’t woken up.

He had tried to move on, tried to live a normal human life, but that had been before he met Arthur.

Merlin rolled over onto his side in bed, staring blankly at the wall. Being in love with his boss didn’t help matters, and he knew he was better off staying far away from him due to his abilities.

Despite that, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to leave. It wasn’t the right decision—but Merlin was a Djinn. They’d never been one for good decisions.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

*

Merlin pressed into Arthur slowly, carefully; or at least he tried to until Arthur’s legs wrapped around him and forced him in further.

“Come on, you big baby, I can take it, don’t treat me like _glass_.”

“But I don’t want to hurt—”

“If you were hurting me, I would say so, now move!”

It just figured that Arthur would be a bossy bottom, but well, Merlin wasn’t really complaining. He began moving quickly, knowing that Arthur would complain again if he tried being slow or gentle, and so Merlin simply thrust into him relentlessly, groaning when Arthur rolled his hips.

He was the first to come between them, apologies spilling off his lips, but Arthur simply tightened his grip, not letting Merlin pull out as he took himself in hand. It only took a few strokes before he was coming as well, and then he allowed Merlin to move, his legs falling back down onto the bed as Merlin stretched out next to him.

They were both filthy, but neither seemed to care, Merlin flinging his arm across Arthur and pulling him close, ignoring his sounds of discontent.

“Next time, I refuse to be the little spoon,” Arthur said.

“Fine, fine, just shut up and go to sleep now,” Merlin murmured fondly, already drifting off.

*

Merlin woke to sticky sheets and a deep feeling of shame—and an even deeper feeling of regret and loss as he realised Arthur wasn’t actually there beside him. Djinn could only grant the wishes of humans; not other Djinn, and certainly not their own. He’d tried to avoid dreaming of Arthur, because that was all it could ever be, a dream.

While aware, he could fight against his abilities, but even if by some miracle him and Arthur got together, they could never actually _be_ together. If they ever had sex, Merlin would lose control and grant Arthur’s wish whether he meant to or not, and he had no way of knowing if Arthur would ever wake up.

Merlin wished, ironically, that he _could_ grant his own wishes. Then at least he’d _have_ the dream.

 

Months later, when Merlin passed Arthur at work, he suddenly felt another desire that he’d never sensed before—a desire for _him_.

And that, Merlin decided, was probably the worst thing of all. 

* * *

 

**31**

Suspicions were rising about his sudden trips alone. Most assumed it was due to the added pressures of becoming King. A few saw the relief in his eyes, the curve of his lips even in the moments before he departed for his little adventures.

"Bend to me." The voice would command and Arthur's body moved in a slow arch. Nothing too languid, nothing even close or resembling to a dancer's grace. He simply followed the smooth command. Hips forward, fingers dug deep into the sturdy flesh that supported him, guided him. With his head up to the sky and his cock easily finding that familiar divot of tight slick skin, Arthur let out his first moan of the night.

No one would understand why he did this, who he was with. Most would think him mad for it, take away his crown, but to give up the soft tendrils of daylight or the fiercely haunting guidance of the moon...no, he never would. This was his. Naked and nearly alone, but never alone, surrounded by him, it, and everything.

More friction against his inner thighs. They were being spread for him earlier than usual, made sticky and damp with nectarous dew.

"I need to be inside you tonight."

Arthur hummed his approval at the thought.

The sweat of his lover always covered him, marked what the king had been doing for hours on end, grinding his pain and soul away against the fertile body of something that could only be known as alive. He spread his legs further apart with both of his knees snuggly on either side of his lover's cool body.

A delicate touch lingered with an effortless tease between his cheeks. The small puckered opening swirled with the rustling leaves around him.

"Please take me." Arthur pleaded.

"I can not take what has always been mine, but I will remind you of whom you belong to whenever you need." The voice spoke deep from the earth. Through root and vines it consumed as much as it revived everything around them.

Arthur rutted his body slower still, enough to rejoice in this moment and forget all other troubles existence brought. Tight wet suction pulled him deeper into the perfect groove. Down his arm, twisting his nipple, over the ripple of his exposed stomach, additional strands wove their way till they coiled around his length staving off the inevitable.

"Let me cum soon. I need to be part of you." Arthur groaned out before he bucked his hips. 

A light fingered insertion of this expert sanity thief had Arthur twisting in a struggle to fuck himself further. He knew he didn't have to. The branch would grow and fill him like all erections. It would pulse with needs of it's own.

"Once and future King, you are always part of me." the voice whispered in Arthur's ears like a drug.

Arthur's back knotted to the sensations, his arse clenched around the ever growing staff. longer and wider it stretched and prodded before it finally moved. Each thrust pushed Arthur deeper into his lover's body, enveloping him in pleasure. Every surface tingled and glistened with... "Ohhhh, yes. More." Arthur panted, finally giving all his mind and body to the moment.

_________

 

There was no way Merlin would ever tell. Druid ancestors long ago knew the ways of it. It was even by accident that it happened at all. And then one day his king found him and needed him in ways he could never provide if he was in any other form. Pride and duty would get in the way of what they felt, but here in the woods, among his people. Merlin could comfort the man he loved. Provide that which he needed most and stay safely hidden as his tree of life. 

* * *

 

**32**

_**Warnings:** character death, noncon_

 

Merlin wakes to the smell of blood. There are blood splatters on the wall in front of him, and when he jolts upright he sees the blood seeping across the sheets.

"Arthur, Arthur, we need to get out of here," he says, reaching out to shake Arthur's shoulder; Arthur's skin is cold to the touch.

"No. No. No no no." Merlin gets on his knees, not caring about the blood smearing his naked skin. Arthur can't be. He can't be.

But there are long, deep marks across his neck and down his chest. Merlin's vision starts to blur and he thinks he must be saying something, whispering spells or curses or anything to make Arthur start moving again, but Arthur refuses to so much as blink.

_He's dead._

Merlin whips around to face the intruder, readying spells that he knows will have no effect.

Mordred stands there, face completely blank, as always. His golden eyes are slit thin like a cat's, and his tapered ears twitch lightly. _This is your own fault_ , Mordred whispers into his mind, _for ignoring the pact_.

Merlin feels heat burning up his arms, and when he looks down the curse marks -- the contract -- is writ across his skin. It's traveling further up, across his shoulders, lighting up his neck and seeping into his mind.

"This wasn't what I asked for," he pleads; he claws at his skull to try to stop the words from sinking in too deep, but it does nothing.

_You wanted power. I gave you power. In exchange, your body and soul were mine._

Mordred's words reverberate inside Merlin's mind, and already he can feel himself losing pieces of himself. Mordred crosses the short distance between them and places his hands on Merlin's shoulders, pushes him down onto the blood-stained sheets. The blood is already cold, and Merlin thinks that it will crust across his back.

"I don't share," Mordred whispers, the first words he has spoken to Merlin since that day they formed the pact. "Every last piece of you is mine."

The first kiss is gentle, reverent. Mordred doesn't pry his lips open, just presses their mouths together. He moves on to kiss Merlin's neck, shoulders, arms; when he reaches Merlin's palm, Merlin shudders. Arthur had kissed him like this, just a few hours ago.

 _Stop thinking about him_. Mordred bites Merlin's wrist and draws blood, the pain sharp and driving out stray thoughts.

It gets harder and harder to remember that this isn't what he wants. Merlin scrambles for resistance, but whenever he thinks he might be able to struggle, Mordred fixes his gaze on Merlin and a strange, calming wave washes over him. Merlin reaches for something to ground him, and comes in contact with clammy skin.

He holds on to that -- Arthur's cold wrist -- as Mordred licks at his hole with his forked tongue. Merlin digs his nails into Arthur's flesh when hot fingers breach him, and he turns to face glazed eyes when those fingers are replaced by Mordred's cock.

 _Don't cry_ , Mordred whispers, I'm going to make you feel good. I take care of my toys.

Merlin's tears dry, but even as the pleasure rises in him, all he can think about is how the blood under his nails will never be warm again. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

\--

"I need power," Merlin says, "To protect those I love."

The demon stares at him with deceptively innocent eyes. _All right. But in return, you belong to me._

"Yes. I accept."

The demon steps close and kisses Merlin, lets power flow into him. Magic thrums through Merlin's veins, more power than he'd ever thought possible.

Now he'll be able to protect Arthur. 

* * *

 

**33**

The breeze from the open window ruffles Arthur's hair, sends him burrowing further under the covers in his sleep, and Merlin swats it away as he might a fly – snatches the cold from the gaps in Arthur's blankets where it would wake him if left to its own devices.

He lifts off from his place on the sill, mindful of the ceiling fan, turns in midair and brings the window down as silently as possible. It creaks, but Arthur just lets out a quiet snore, lips slightly parted on the exhale.

The moonlight's a tad bright where it falls across Arthur's bed, so Merlin waves a hand and lets the curtains swing shut as well. He dampens the electronic sounds of someone else awake in the house and silences the passing of a car before checking the lock on the door, making sure it's clicked into place and not budging. And when it's not, he thickens a pocket of air scant inches above Arthur's lazy sprawl, settles himself into it and lets his arms hang down where he can feel the heat of this boy.

He allows himself to fall drowsy then, syncing up with Arthur's mind, and feels it when he slips past his weakened defenses, slides into the warmth Arthur's already managed to create on his own.

He never gets it quite right, though.

Humans.

Everything's a shade too vibrant inside the dream space, too loud to be calming, so Merlin snaps his fingers and quiets the din, softens the reds and blues and brings down the lights until his eyes go half-lidded, affected by the atmosphere, and then -

“You're here, aren't you?”

Arthur's voice comes as though from far off, low and hoarse, but he's only a few feet away when Merlin turns, lain out on his back, pretty knees parted as far as they will go while another Merlin works between them – sucking noises leaving no doubt as to what he's up to.

Merlin's cock gives a heady throb at the sight. A wide, stupid grin spreads across his lips and then he's leaping where he stands, diving through the air to land at Arthur's side with a quiet thump.

“Getting started without me?” he asks, slow and hot. He presses the words into the damp skin at Arthur's temple, mouths down along his cheekbone and slides one hand alongside Arthur's into the hair of his double, grips at the dark strands and makes him bob faster on Arthur's cock.

“Depends how you look,” Arthur slurs back, fingering one of the double's pointed ears. He leans forward and takes Merlin's mouth then, opens him up and slicks his tongue inside, underneath Merlin's and then above, licking at his teeth.

It makes Merlin's prick twitch the way Arthur just goes for it – has always just gone for it from the first time they did this together, both younglings, big-eyed and still skinny-limbed.

He hums into Arthur's mouth, lets go of the double and shakes his head when Arthur breathes out a question, asks -

“D'you want me to send him -”

“No,” Merlin whispers, moving further down Arthur's body, turning him on his side with a guiding hand to his hip. “We'll keep him.”

The double goes with the movement, sucking at Arthur's bollocks and further behind them, sighing out contented sentiment Merlin understands entirely as he himself sucks kisses along Arthur's spine, settles into place low, lower until he's lightly nosing along the crevice of Arthur's arse, just breathing, tangling legs with the double for comfort.

It's so good like this, drowning in warmth and Arthur, that Merlin could close his eyes and sleep here, drift to the sounds of Arthur being sucked off, but he licks a long, hot line from top to bottom, smiles at Arthur's gasp and accepts the already provided slickness, presses further between Arthur's thighs and meets the double's tongue with a soft, wet lick across Arthur's perineum.

“Jesus fuck -” Arthur grits out, swiveling his hips in an involuntary downward movement.

Merlin takes hold of his leg and pushes until Arthur gets the hint and holds it up, spreads open and flushes all down his chest, swallowing around choked words.

And by the gods, _this_ – this is why Merlin loves his job. 

* * *

 

**34**

This was not how Arthur wanted Merlin to find out. He’d wanted to ease Merlin into it -- drinks at the pub, a quiet night at Arthur’s flat -- both of them relaxed and easy. Too bad it wasn’t going to happen that way.

When an inhuman howl split the air in the alley below Arthur’s balcony, followed by a very familiar voice crying out in fear, Arthur knew he had to act. Especially since it was _Merlin_ in the alley, trapped by the giant winged cat that had been attacking people in the area. 

Without a thought, Arthur jumped from his fifth floor balcony, his shirt ripping as his wings snapped free, and dove for the cat. Striking the bastet in the back, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both, landing on his back and throwing her as far from Merlin as he could.

He heard Merlin gasp behind him, but he ignored his friend in favor of keeping an eye on the cat. Arthur felt his fingernails lengthen into claws and his fangs descend, ready for battle. Crouching in front of Merlin, he growled loud and low, warning the bastet away and praying to any god that would listen that she wouldn’t push the issue. Arthur didn’t want to hurt her, fearing that she suffered under a stronger version of the same curse that afflicted him.

The bastet paced back and forth across the front of the alley, assessing Arthur. Suddenly, she crouched down, gathering herself to pounce. Arthur’s muscles tensed in anticipation, and he stood, readying himself to meet her.

She never left the ground. Before either of them could move, a golden whip of light shot out from behind Arthur, striking the bastet across the nose. It was followed by a wall of magic so strong, it swept her off her feet. Scrambling back, she fled into the night. 

Arthur turned and faced Merlin. “You couldn’t do that _before_ I risked life and limb?” he asked, exasperated. “What are you even _doing_ here, anyway?” His wings fluttered nervously, waiting for some kind of reaction.

Merlin just stared at him, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He blinked. Then blinked again. “Arthur?” he asked uncertainly.

Anger coursed through Arthur, and he bowed his head. After all their time together, after Arthur had been so accepting of Merlin’s own magic. It was all over. Arthur would lose --

A gentle hand on his wing startled him, and he opened his eyes to see Merlin, his expression one of wonder and not the revulsion Arthur had expected.

“Merlin?”

“Beautiful,” Merlin breathed, tentatively stroking his hand up and over the joint of Arthur’s wing, making Arthur shiver and gasp. No one had ever touched him like that. He’d never allowed it.

"Merlin, I--"

"Let me see," Merlin whispered. "In the light. I want to see you."

“I --”

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and Arthur found himself in the middle of his bedroom, a bare step backwards from the bed.

“I had wondered,” Merlin said, reaching out and running his hand from shoulder to wrist bone. “I wondered when you would get around to telling me about this.” 

Startled, Arthur didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Every stroke of Merlin’s hand, every soft caress across his feathers went straight to his cock. Merlin stepped closer, dragging his fingers over Arthur’s shoulder and down his chest. “Or,” he whispered, his voice a low husk. “About this.” And he sealed his lips over Arthur’s.

Arthur inhaled sharply, pulling Merlin in as close as he could and returning the kiss. When Merlin slotted his leg between his thighs and rubbed hard, Arthur couldn’t help but buck up into the pressure, moaning his pleasure. Their kisses became frantic, desperate and needy; and Merlin’s hands never stopped moving, stroking down his sides, caressing his shoulders, and running almost reverently through golden feathers.

Every pass of those elegant fingers through Arthur’s plumage caused an answering buck to Arthur’s hips. It didn’t take long for Merlin to notice. He chuckled darkly and concentrated his efforts, petting and stroking from wrist to shoulder and down to where wing met flesh, Merlin toyed with the feathers.

All the while, Arthur writhed and rubbed against Merlin, unable to contain his gasps and moans, losing himself to the pleasure of Merlin’s touch. Then Merlin’s hands were on his arse, pulling in hard as he ground hard; and Arthur was coming into his pants as his whole world washed white and gold. 

* * *

 

**35**

There once lived a man named Arthur with very skillful hands, and with them he crafted the most wondrous toys. He lived alone in a tiny cottage in a small village, near the town square where he performed puppet shows. Audiences marveled at the liveliness of his creations.

Of all of his many figures, none were more wondrous or lively than George.

“George,” Arthur would often say, “You are an excellent puppet, but not the most stimulating company.” And he would smile, and George would agree this was very funny, even if he did not understand why.

*\/*\/*\/*

One evening, after a rousing performance honouring his sister’s engagement, Arthur made his usual compliment to George. He smiled, but then he looked down at his hands. “Perhaps I should make you a friend,” he said.

George saw nothing strange in this. A good puppet required only an audience, but there was no reason a friend couldn’t be both.

*\/*\/*\/*

George eyeballed his friend. He was much too large for strings, his face unpainted and unpolished. Arthur named him Merlin, blowing wood shavings from the whorl of one oversized ear.

“Hello,” Merlin said.

“Hello,” George replied.

“Pardon me for asking,” Merlin said, “but are you a real boy?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” George said.

“Arthur said he should like me to be a real boy, but I don’t know how one becomes real.”

George understood wanting to be satisfactory. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I could teach you to be a puppet? It is the purpose for which I was made,” he added proudly.

“Oh,” said Merlin, unperturbed. “No thanks. I’ll just keep looking for a way.”

Well. Merlin was hardly puppet material anyway.

*\/*\/*\/*

Merlin was grotesque with reality. Arthur had even fashioned for him human genitalia, hooked between the long, pale birch of his legs.

George didn’t say anything. There was no call to be impolite.

“I spoke to the old mannequin,” Merlin confided. “She said love is the only way to become real. Isn’t it exciting? Now I simply have to find some!”

George felt like a splinter had broken off inside his chest. “You should focus on what you were created for,” he said. “There is no greater satisfaction than a job well-done, or a purpose well-fulfilled.”

Merlin’s indulgent smile left George feeling desperate and bereft. He didn’t _understand_.

*\/*\/*\/*

“Do you think this is it?” Merlin called from the bed. “Is this love?”

Arthur had unhooked the first phallus and replaced it with another — this one erect, polished to a dark, cherry glow. Merlin made intrigued noises as Arthur greased the shaft with shaking fingers, his face aflame.

“I can almost feel it!” Merlin said as Arthur sank onto him. George wished he could look away. Arthur moved gingerly, cautious and flinching.

Slowly, his fingers unclenched from his bedsheets. Slowly, he began to rock over Merlin. His mouth fell open; his eyes widened. Just visible between them, his human phallus began to jump and twitch with his movement, as if controlled by its own string. George ached hearing Arthur’s urgent panting, his short, whining exhales. The splinter of unease within him became a stake when Arthur suddenly stilled, eyes shut tight and mouth open wide, spilling thick white threads onto Merlin’s middle.

“Oh,” Merlin said when Arthur stumbled off of him. He hiccupped a soft sound when Arthur unhooked his erect phallus and threw it into the fire, but said no more.

*\/*\/*\/*

Arthur continued to climb on top of Merlin, as if he could not help himself, and each time discarded his own work afterwards, face buried in his hands.

Merlin’s wood began to soften, deepening in color with patina. Sometimes, when Arthur rode him desperately, Merlin’s long fingers would twitch.

George would not speak to him anymore. He’d begun to collect dust on his shelf.

*\/*\/*\/*

George did not think he could feel more pale, more tinder dry, until the day Arthur fell to his knees before Merlin. He was drunk, wet-eyed and clumsy, unsurprised when Merlin’s wooden palm moved haltingly to cup his cheek.

With difficulty, Merlin bent, joints creaking as he tipped his mouth to Arthur’s.

George watched the color spread, blood-flush replacing wood grain as Merlin’s lips softened and opened against Arthur’s, gasping. He pushed Arthur to the floor with living strength while Arthur’s hands gripped the softness of his rump, his belly, catching his laughing face and thumbing his ears. Ecstatic.

George watched, not finding their display funny at all, because he didn’t understand.

* * *

**36**

In the end, he found Merlin in a seedy motel at the crossing of two leylines. The dirty, ramshackle exterior made Arthur's skin crawl -- but when he stepped over the threshold, he wasn't surprised to enter a well-appointed Holiday Inn Express. Merlin never could go entirely without his creature comforts.

As he exited the lift, an ancient man was hobbling out of the nearest room. "Good day to you, sir," he quavered.

Arthur nodded and held the doors. Then, as the old man tried to slip past without touching him, Arthur's hand shot out and seized his arm.

Instantly the man fought, but Arthur was ready and hung on until he could burrow his hand under the loose sleeve and close his fingers around the wizened arm. As soon as skin touched skin, magic flared through him, bringing a powerful arousal.

The old man's robes fluttered as though a gust of wind had howled down the corridor. When it faded, Arthur was holding onto a young man in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

Arthur grinned into beloved eyes. "Hello, love."

Merlin scowled at him and tried to pull his arm away. Arthur kept his grip easy but firm; as long as he touched Merlin's skin, nothing could part them. As soon as he consummated their fragile union, nothing would ever part them again.

"What are you doing here, Arthur?"

"I'm here to claim you, obviously."

Merlin scoffed. "You can't claim me. You agreed to wed a human woman, remember?"

"I sent her away," he said and grinned at the look of shock on Merlin's face. "What woman could compare to the Son of the Sea?"

Merlin erupted into a flurry of feathers, but Arthur pulled the flapping owl down and hugged it to his chest with pure joy. Transformation meant Merlin was playing. Merlin would be bound, if Arthur was strong enough to bind him.

In his haste to escape, Merlin had left the door to his room ajar. Arthur strode in and kicked the door closed behind him before flinging himself to the bed with his armful of squirming feathers.

Panting, Merlin resumed his most human form as they hit the mattress. Arthur rolled over on top of him, and he frowned up at Arthur, weighing him.

Arthur bent to kiss him and recoiled at the putrid stench that blew in his face."If you're lying, you'll fail," the hideous troll said.

"I am bound to no one but you." The best thing about the troll was that its shredded clothing was easy to strip away.

"Not to me yet." The troll's snarl turned to a hiss--then fired seared Arthur's face. He recoiled by instinct; for one terrifying instant, he almost lost his hold. Then he laughed. Dragon fire couldn't hurt him.

He seized the great serpentine head and pressed a kiss to it before the dragon coiled around him. Arthur writhed in its grip, gasping in pleasure as the hot scales burned away his clothing. "It's like you're not even trying, Merlin."

Merlin hissed and thrashed, twisting around Arthur's naked body. Then he started trying.

Arthur hung on through one transformation after another, grasping at arms and legs and tentacles. He rubbed his stiff cock against skin and fur and scales as he fought to wrestle Merlin into submission.

He got Merlin onto his back pressing him into the sheets. Merlin surrendered to his human form with a groan as his body arched up into Arthur's.

Arthur bent Merlin's limbs to expose his entrance and positioned himself to enter. He could feel Merlin pulling him in like the tide and had to kiss him. "I could drown in you."

This time he was startled to feel the shift, a sudden softness under his body. He raised his head to stare into green eyes framed by flowing black hair.

He laughed. "You really think I wouldn't fuck my sister to get what I want?" he asked and sheathed himself in her soaking wet cunt.

Merlin held the form as long as he could, but his moans grew louder and less controlled as Arthur moved inside of him. Arthur's cock had already been dripping with precome; it seeped into Merlin now, beginning the binding and weakening his resistance.

Finally he snapped back into his own form, writhing on Arthur's cock. It was almost done. Arthur gasped out love with his release. Merlin shuddered as the salt in the semen bound with the salt in his sea-blood

They both smiled. 

* * *

 

**37**

"I know you are in there." Merlin said soothingly to Freya, or rather the Bastet. It did no good as it growled at him. However he knew a little of wild animals and hoped that he could appeal to the girl that he knew was trapped within the beast. He extended a tentative hand out to the creature. "Freya, it's me, Merlin." He said, torn between wanting to run and wanting to stay.

The animal stopped snarling and instead took a step forward, it's growl now a rumble but still intimidating. He stood still as the creature came up to him and sniffed his hand. Cautiously he turned it so the palm was facing up. The Bastet circled him, carefully observing and scenting him.

"I know you cannot help it." He said, they were alone and hidden in the vast catacombs. His voice echoed sightly. "We'll find a cure for this, but try and see if you can control it." The creature snarled again, making him flinch.

Gently he reached out ad touched the tip of the creature's nose. He let it sniff and felt a little braver as he touched the sides of its cheek. "There now, you know it's me don't you?" He said softly to the creature. Running his hand over the fur he made a mental comparison between it and Freya's hair. It felt like the finest and thickest sable and dark as midnight. While stroking the beast he noticed that it seemed calmer, and he also noticed that the wings seemed smaller than they had been during her transformation. "You just need to calm down." He said, letting his hands caress her as if she was a small kitten.

The growling replaced by..well it wasn't quite a purr, but it was not a threat either. Merlin didn not think he could hold his ground against the bared fangs of the creature if it continued to be aggressive. It laid its great head onto his lap and the wings spread out on either sides of it's body. merlin continued the petting and talked in a soft monologue more for his benefit as he wasn't sure Freya understood him when she was in that form. "We'll break the spell, and you will not have to live like this any more. The Druids weren't right to turn you away, and we'll get to the bottom that much later."

The wings seemed to get smaller and smaller, until they were almost bird-like. "We'll find you a place, here in the castle. You'll have to hide you're magic, but one can hide an amazing amount of things under Uther's nose." He smiled as the creature rolled on it's back, exposing it's belly. Encouraged he stroked and soothed, reciting his litany of ways that Freya could be safe and cared for.

Fur melted away into patches of human flesh and her ears shrank back to human-sized. Whiskers slowly vanished and when her face and mouth became human again he kissed her lovingly and deeply. "That's my girl." He whispered.

Looking up at him, from her position on his lap she muttered a small thank you.

"The Bastet has never vanished like that before."

"That's because you've got me to love you." He replied, brushing away her hair and showed her with his mouth and his hands how much he meant it. 

* * *

 

**38**

Arthur moves from tree to tree with practiced ease, though it'd taken him a long time to learn how to use his avatar like this. The wheat-colour hues of the magic moon Ealdor blur past him, his extraterrestrial body practically floating through the air with every jump. Arthur's human body (under safe watch at the laboratory) certainly couldn't move so easily amidst the rough terrain.

"Arthur!"

Arthur follows the voice on the wind, dropping down through the branches, landing on the large one where Merlin is sitting cross-legged. Like all of his kind, Merlin is breathtaking; humanoid, but much taller and thinner than the people of Earth, with bright blue wide-set eyes and golden skin. His hair is in a long plait with nerve fibers called queues at the end of it. Arthur looks similar, of course, when in his Druid avatar, but right now it's the queues he focuses on, reaching his out like Merlin's doing.

"We're supposed to go back to the compound," Arthur says, right before the connection is made.

"Yes," Merlin says, "my human body is ready. It can wait a little more."

"Are you nervous?"

Merlin shakes his head. "Excited. It means understanding you better."

Arthur doesn't think Merlin could possibly know him any better than like this; it's a twining of minds and souls, their entire beings filling with trust and love and _everything_ , an open current flowing between them. It's pleasurable, yes, but it isn't _sex_. There's nothing physical about it. It's deeper, spiritual, and Arthur doesn't know how he'll be able to give back nearly as much when they're both humans.

"Do not worry," Merlin says as they break apart, coming back to themselves. He smiles. "I know how you truly feel." 

\--

Clearly, Merlin's DNA is always beautiful; as an adult human, his eyes are still blue, with ridiculous ears sticking out endearingly, his skin pale and lovely. When Merlin wakes up in his avatar, it takes him a couple of days to adjust, but he takes to it like a fish to water. He quickly learns motor functions (though he's rather clumsy at times) and how to use his new vocal chords (he's too loud, and still very cheeky). But he's still completely _Merlin_ \-- scoffing at Arthur's strict military manner, laughing at the stupidest jokes, taking delight in the smallest wonders -- that Arthur's heart nearly bursts with relief.

It's a week after learning how to be human, constantly being followed and observed, when Merlin pointedly asks Gaius, "Is it time for Arthur and I to spend a significant amount of time _alone_ yet?"

There are others in the lab, army personnel and scientists, who either cough politely or look away. Well, except for Gwaine, who laughs and claps Merlin on the shoulder. Merlin looks pleased with himself, and Gaius is obviously amused. Arthur plays it cool, though there's a jump of excitement in his stomach when Gaius gives them leave.

Inside Arthur's private quarters, Merlin pushes him up against the wall. "Is it time for the sex yet?"

Arthur, caught off guard, sputters, "Where'd you learn that?"

"From Gwaine. He explained it all."

"Of course he did," Arthur says dryly.

"I knew, though. From your mind, in our connections. It's … different, as a human."

"Yes, it is."

"Be with me, in this way. Show me."

Oh, how Arthur wants. He gets them naked and takes them to bed. It's hard to hold back, to not just open Merlin up and sink into his new, unused body -- he'd be so goddamn _tight_ and _amazing_. But Arthur won't. Not yet. He wants this to be good for Merlin, _needs_ it to be, and he'll take it one step at a time. They have all night, and more.

Arthur goes slow, introducing Merlin to pleasurable kisses and light touches, earning every gasp and excited tremour from Merlin's body.

"This is how humans connect?" Merlin groans as Arthur gently bites his nipple.

"Sometimes it's just for fun. For pleasure." Arthur licks soothingly over his quickly fading teeth marks. "Other times, it's for closeness. And … everything."

Merlin asks, voice already rough, "Like now? I -- I feel that, I do."

"I'll give you more." Arthur kisses him deeply, taking Merlin's cock in hand and jerking him off in teasing pulls. Arthur whispers encouragements into Merlin's ear, trying to put into words just how he feels.

"I know," Merlin whispers, and shudders as he comes in Arthur's hand. "Me too. Always." 

* * *

 

**39**

_**Warnings:** depending on interpretation, dub-con and mind control_

Vivian got reprogrammed once. Too many clients complained that she treated them with disdain and her creator clucked, took her away, and when she came back she was the same Vivian when they were alone but the sight of a guest made her sigh and flirt.

Mithian knows to be careful, now. Mithian makes sure they think Elena’s clumsiness is charming instead of a glitch. Mithian lets Vivian giggle and fawn for clients and then wail _I don’t even like him!_ afterwards. Mithian keeps her helpless anger and her desires under a serene expression.

Princesses are meant to have feelings, after all, but only good ones.

*

Mithian makes herself the best Princess in their Castle, and passes her knowledge on to Elena and Vivian to protect them from unwanted attention. She learns about geishas and courtesans and other women who did as she does, ducks her head at the praise she receives, uses it to ask for more datafiles to learn to please guests better.

One day, she will pay off the cost of her creation, and then she will pay off Elena’s, and then they will work to pay off Vivian’s and remove her reprogramming.

Princesses can work themselves to independence quickly, if they try, and Mithian is trying. She doesn’t know what they’ll do after, but as long as they’re together, she doesn’t care. Once, she met a former Princess who navigates a starship. She thinks Elena might like that. Annis, the head of their Castle, was a Princess too, and Vivian might like her life, the jewels and silks without the clients. She takes note of the possibilities.

*

She likes the nights they don’t have guests the best. Elena and Vivian come to her bed and they all huddle close, curtains closed and cocooned off from the world. These nights, they take pleasure for themselves.

Mithian loves the way her circuits sing as they pass electricity between their mouths, loves the way Vivian gasps and arches when Mithian puts her head between her legs, loves the way Elena puts her thigh between Mithian’s and makes her ride it until the only information in her head is _pleasure pleasure pleasure_ , loves the way the other two giggle afterwards as if they’re too happy to contain themselves.

It isn’t the skilled sex she uses during the day. Mithian likes that too, the sweet clean satisfaction of it, the conversations she indulges in before and after because of her reputation as an advisor as well as a lover. She likes the feeling of a cock inside her, the curious heat of blood and living flesh, the stutters of heartbeat and breathing at orgasm. Still, if she could only feel one thing until the day she’s deactivated, it would be this: Vivian and Elena curled up on her bed, breathing deeply, all of them touching somewhere.

That’s her dream. Not jewels, not the stars. Just the three of them, together.

*

Love is a human word. Maybe the last human word, the last thing they claim for themselves, the last thing they say androids and AIs can’t understand, though it’s easy enough for them to believe that they feel hate and fear and loneliness.

Mithian doesn’t think she can be the first or only one to love. She’s scanned dictionaries in every language her translators will allow, from every era in recorded history, looking for definitions of the word, so she can say with confidence that she knows what she feels. She loves them, loves them so fiercely that it makes her struggle to understand sometimes, and if she could cry she would, because she knows to say it in public before she makes independence means she would be reprogrammed.

There’s a secret language, though, in the way that Elena presses a thumb into Mithian’s ankle, in the way Vivian teaches them new ways to style their hair, in the way they all look at each other sometimes, that Mithian knows means she isn’t alone in it.

*

“I love you,” she whispers one night, face in Elena’s shoulder. “I love you so much they couldn’t program it out of me if they tried.”

“Love,” says Vivian, like she can taste it. “Is that what this is?”

Mithian tightens her arms around them. “It must be. It can’t be anything else.” 

* * *

 

**40**

As far as fucks went, it got the job done. Come in a bit of tissue on the side of the bed already, now a hint of sweat for good measure, and she had his name on her lips. Gwaine wasn't asking for much. Cock still in hand, he pressed himself into her a second time, rubbing his face between the stumps on her back. They took comfort in the familiarity when it was all mechanics and glossing over how much they jarred. She laughed for him, moaned sometimes, and he bit around her shoulderblades until she tightened on his cock.

He was comfortably numb. He knew he was drinking too much when he should be on the force driving the car with the wailing sirens to replace the crash and burn in his own life. Instead he was here, in the middle of a disaster of bad choices and worse decisions, a seedy little motel on the side of the road while his mobile was brimming with messages from M and Arthur, for different reasons entirely (one he fucked, one who fucked him over all too often in the name of Something Bigger).

"That's good, yeah?" he whispered into her ear as he ground himself into her.

During their first fuck, the feathers wrapped in a plastic shopping bag in her duffel had spanned in wings from her back, rasping over his bare skin, collecting his sweat, seducing him with a bit of angelic come-on, nevermind the side of devious masterplan. They'd been scratchy on his arse, scratchier as they tried to go for a bit of adventure a little deeper (M's come from their fuck on patrol had still been sliming him up good, and she went right in, messing herself up in a bit of a reverse butterfly as he was pulsing inside her).

She'd told him about heaven, and it had seemed a pretty sweet deal until Arthur had pulled him aside later and hammered home the message about hell, ominous warning and full-body pushes up against the wall as the rest of them had watched in a half circle. They'd all sworn allegiance, fierce binding magic words and whispers included, full moon, bone of the deceased and a sprinkle of fairy dust (M, again), but the bonds tore at his wrists like cheap no-good bondage and she was so many times sweeter, even now. 

He should be in a car putting on the sirens. He should have a sword and drive it right between her shoulderblades, between the stumps left over where Arthur had held her down and hacked off her wings for a message -- but instead Gwaine pushed deeper into her and moaned into that exact same spot. Tasting familiarity, tasting a little of the fucked up kind of love that only mercy really brought.

His phone was ringing again, and she moaned to cover it. He'd sworn to this, sworn to kill her this time, proving his allegiance to the brotherhood (meaning his worth other than being the life of every party), but her pussy was so sweet and her moans so desperate. And much like he lost himself in his drink, he lost himself in this.

"I won't tell anyone," he whispered into the side of her face, and ignored the glint in her eye. Saw it, ignored it, only fucked her deeper, rutting against her until they were both moaning too hard to think. 

She turned them and rode him, her pussy clenching on his cock as he cupped each stump in one hand and set the pace for the fuck. He watched her face and saw the faces of his brothers swimming around him, then saw the wings she didn't have anymore and the plan she was no doubt hatching in her little mind as he played right into it.

But he thrust up into her and couldn't make himself stop. He just kept fucking. And fucking. And fucking up. Life, eh? He'd need a drink after. 

* * *

 

**41**

_**Warning:** dub/con_

Delivered From the Wilderness

Arthur wakes, sensing he’s being watched. Lying still as stone, he feels the creep of eyes over his skin, like hair rubbed against the grain. Hackles rise prickly as needles on his neck.

For two nights, Arthur has sensed this eerie hush settling over their camp, dousing all in a stupor, leaving him alone to sense the _wrong_ in the air, his skin prickling so intensely it’s almost painful. Eventually it recedes into the forest as though it was never there, taking with it the soporific veil, though not the itch under Arthur's skin, nor the restlessness from his blood.

Arthur waits for it to dissipate this night too, hating these accursed woods and his father’s war on magic for bringing him here, but the clinging mist thickens until it’s a tight clench around the camp, and does not abate. Damp blankets of it creep into camp, while all around, battle-weary knights sleep like the dead, even the sentry dozing as he leans on his pike, enchanted.

Arthur’s heart clambers around his chest like bells in a fog, singing, _run, run!_ His breath quickens, adrenalin searing his nerves, eyes full of black woods.

From the void, something comes.

An opaque thing—black as night and big as houses—moves silently into the clearing. Arthur gasps.

Beautiful and terrible, the gleaming black dragon creeps, ghost-like, claws soft on the forest floor as they never are in battle. Arthur knows. He has seen this one, a fearless thing, black streak of lightning across the skies. It pins Arthur to his bedroll with magic, looks him over with yellow eyes and steals into camp like death’s shadow.

Arthur can’t move, his limbs ensorcelled. This thing will eat him, blankets and all, while his men sleep their unnatural slumber, till they’re helplessly slaughtered, too. He _can’t move_ save for his eyes, which flit over the beast and all around, looking for something, _anything_ he can use to survive, raise the alarm, save his men.

Arthur’s fingers twitch uselessly, caressing the steel at his hip, unable to grasp it. And then the monster is upon him, its gold-glowing eyes stripping him of all but the most basic thoughts. It has come for him, to finish Uther’s drawn-out war by plucking the Prince of Camelot from his bed like an oyster from its shell, severing the bloodline to win the conflict.

Arthur sets his jaw and juts out his chin, proud even at this ignoble end. “Go on,” he spits at the creature, “Do what you came for.”

The dragon pauses scant inches from Arthur’s feet. It tilts its head, and Arthur could swear it understands.

It steps forward, the heat of its body throwing a glow over Arthur as it stands above him. Filled with horror, Arthur watches its tongue slip from between dagger-sharp teeth to taste the air between them, and then, a shimmer descends on the dragon’s skin as though it basks in gloaming, light burnishing its body. It seems to shrink, and smooth, and brighten, until in its place crouches a man, whose skin glows in moonlight, opalescent.

Arthur can’t breathe.

Above him, the dragon-man smiles, yellow eyes the only reminder of his true form. He forces his alien, startling beauty into Arthur’s senses, drives it under his skin, makes him pant with awe.

When he speaks, Arthur’s skin erupts in goosebumps.

“Why do you think I came, _Pen Draig_?”

Short, sable hair, soft as pelts, caresses Arthur’s cheek as the dragon-man sniffs at his neck and jaw. Arthur’s body stiffens from throat to cock to toes, startled into high alert by the shock of this encounter. “To end the war. To kill me.”

The dragon-man laughs—rumbling thunder of a beast's throat, not this slender man’s—and _licks Arthur’s throat_. “I come to lay claim to what’s mine, not to kill it.”

Arthur’s eyes roll back, thinking himself near death, delirious. He must be, for this is madness. “I’ve seen you in the sky,” he moans, the confession startled out of him by the rasp of the dragon-man’s tongue along clavicle and ribs and navel.

“You call to me, as I call to you. It is the way we have always been,” the dragon-man whispers, sleek head nosing along Arthur’s cock. “And ever will be.”

“I don’t know you,” Arthur hisses, confused but hot and hard as a battle-ram for this powerful, stark dragon warrior.

“I’ll help you remember,” the dragon-man murmurs, taking Arthur’s cock into the snug, moist suck of his mouth, eyes locked on Arthur’s every hiss and grunt, rocking with the rut of his hips. Feeling himself thicken along the hot cradle of the dragon-man’s tongue, he suddenly _knows_. His eyes widen. “ _Merlin_!” 

* * *

 

**42**

_**Warning:** Implications of Homophobia, a little bit of blood play (I think)_

Only the truth

Merlin peeked outside through the windowed door and sight in relief, he lost them.  
Rubbing his neck absentmindedly he glanced around him to find an empty hall.

He turned around and tried to open the door only to find it stuck.

"Oh come on," Merlin mumbled and tried again, murmuring a spell under his breath but to no avail. "Well fuck."

Merlin's neck was practically burning now and he turned around, expecting an empty hall and nearly stumbling when he saw a man standing at the end of it. The man was tall and well build, his broad shoulders made Merlin's mouth to water.

"Err…" Merlin started. "I, I'm ,err, sorry for err, breaking in but they-"

The man was in front of him in less than two seconds, crowding him to the front door.

"You smell different." He said and leaned closer to sniff at Merlin's hair.

Merlin managed to catch the gleam of sharp fangs before his magic threw the men across the hall.

"What do you think you are doing?!" A vampire; a bloody vampire.

The men's smile was predatory when he climbed to his feet and walked towards Merlin. "My, my, my; aren't we full of surprises little warlock." He said with a wicked gleam in his eyes and Merlin swallowed hard as the blood pounded in his ears.

"I think I'm going to keep you." The men whispered and his fingers trailed along Merlin's neck, eyes glowing an unnatural blue in the dim light of the corridor.

"Keep me?" Merlin breathed out, his blood now roaring in a different direction as the vampire crowded even closer.

"Oh yeah." The vampire breathed against his lips and how was that even possible?  
"You are definitely mine." And he closed the distance between them and kissed Merlin's lips, hard.

Merlin was frozen to the spot for just a second, until the vampire's tongue caressed the corner of his mouth, coaxing him to open it.

"Come on my little warlock…" He breathed into Merlin's mouth and Merlin opened up with a moan because the vampire-

"Wait, what's your name?" Merlin asked breathlessly and the vampire licked his lips as he chuckled darkly. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." His fingers trailed beneath Merlin's shirt.

"Merlin." He said and arched into the touch.

"Arthur." The vampire said and pulled off Merlin's shirt.

His hands were like burning brands on Merlin's skin and he cried out as they brushed his nipples. "You are hot…" He gasped and Arthur chuckled.

"I'm burning," His mouth was back, tongue delving into Merlin's mouth while his hands opened Merlin's jeans. "But just for you my warlock, always for you."

Merlin whimpered when Arthur's mouth closed around his nipple and his hands lowered his boxers to the floor.

"Been waiting for you Merlin," Arthur mumbled against his chest and his fangs scraped the delicate skin of his nipple. "All this time…"

"Guh, Arthur!" Merlin cried out as he felt Arthur's fangs piercing his skin and his tongue licking eagerly at the blood.

"Shh, Merlin, my Merlin, I have to mark you," He lapped some more and then dropped to his knees and eyed Merlin's cock with a starving expression on his face.

"You smell so good." He said and pressed his face to Merlin's groin, mouthing at the coarse hair there and licking at his cock. Merlin's head banged against the door and his hands clutched Arthur's hair.

Arthur swallowed him down without warning and Merlin's hips bucked forward.

"Sorry!" He cried out and glanced down to see Arthur smirking up at him, his hands tightening on Merlin's hips and pulling forward. Merlin gasped and then gave in, allowing Arthur to pull his hips back and forth as he fucked himself on Merlin's cock.

Merlin came with a shout and Arthur was on his mouth in a second, his own hard cock dragging burning trails on Merlin's hip.

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin." He gasped again and again as he rubbed against Merlin's skin.

His mouth left Merlin's and trailed kisses down his neck, attaching himself to Merlin's pulse point and Merlin moved his head to the side, allowing Arthur more access.

When Arthur came Merlin felt the sting of a bite and knew that Arthur had bitten him.

As burning blue eyes connected with his Arthur only said. "Now you are truly mine."

And Merlin nodded, because that was the truth. 

* * *

 

**43**

_**Warnings:** **Implied** Age Difference. A main character is 16 and may be considered **Underage** by some governments. **References** to decidedly **Underage** sexual activity occurring prior to the time-frame of this story._

 

For the first time since coming to Camelot, Merlin had finally ventured outside the city to find what he needed after two weeks of going hungry. Something was off in his usual environs and he’d been too weak to stay and find the problem. He could’ve used his inherent powers to take what he required but that wasn’t _him_. Force left a terrible aftertaste.

Replenished, he returned to Camelot early the next morning. Already awake, Arthur was surlier than usual when Merlin cheerfully delivered his breakfast but Merlin felt so good he wasn’t bothered.

“Gaius said you didn’t come home. Where’ve you been?”

“Pardon, Sire. Not your business.”

Voice darkening with every word, Arthur growled,

“Au contraire, _Mer_ lin, your time isn’t yours. It’s mine. Where were you?”

Looking Arthur in the eye, he told the truth.

“In a tavern draining the essence of a beautiful blond, blue-eyed, sun-kissed farm-boy.”

Arthur turned puce and spluttered,

“W-what?!!”

“Fucked the kid till he was a dent in the bed.”

“Kid? _You’re_ a kid!”

“Alright, he wasn’t a _kid_ , still…tender.”

“You did _not_ do this in _my_ city!”

“You’d know how?”

“Because I’ve forbidden it, goddammit!”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed.

“Forbidden…?”

Angry purple turned brilliant fuchsia and full lips became a thin line but Arthur didn’t answer.

“ _That’s_ why nobody in Camelot would touch me? You _publicly_ banned my _cock_?”

“Y-you’re too young.”

“I’m sixteen, Arthur, been shooting-off since I was twelve.”

Dumbfounded at this bluntness, Arthur’s mouth worked soundlessly.

“Got fucked the first time a month later, _my_ request, fucked my first boy at thirteen and my first girl the week after.”

Stunned, Arthur dropped to the bed; the rock-hard bulge tenting his breeches obvious. Merlin’s deepest nature noticed these things; his life depended on them.

“Did you ban me because I’m too young or because you want me yourself?”

Eyes shamed but chin lifted, Arthur was equally blunt.

“Both.”

“You can’t keep me for yourself, Arthur. You’d never survive.”

Lips flattened and nostrils flared in challenge.

“Try me.”

Merlin did. To his surprise, Arthur not only survived, he thrived. It was unheard of, it was _impossible_!

Rhythmically squeezing Arthur’s cock deep in his arse for the third time in one night, Merlin said so.

“Y-you s-shouldn’t be able…you should be dead by now! Wha-what are you?”

“You, uh! You tell m-me! You…gods! You aren’t just a sorcerer are you?”

Shocked, Merlin stilled. Arthur knew? Arthur knew and Merlin was still alive _and_ Arthur’d been fucking him nightly for months?

Merlin bore down hard on Arthur’s cock and drew a scream from his prince. He ground around and snapped his hips hard enough to force Arthur deep into the mattress over and over until he drew out the essence he needed so badly. He pulled off and rolled to Arthur’s side, renewed like always after feeding. Arthur fueled him like nobody _ever_ had. He had to know why.

“Tell me Merlin!”

Searching dense blue eyes, Merlin found a truth he could trust.

“Warlock and yes…more.”

Arthur waited.

“Cambion.”

“Oh fuck!” Pure despair. “It isn’t real?”

“What isn’t real?”

“You’ve been _making_ me feel this?”

“Feel what? Arthur, I’ve never _influenced_ you. Haven’t done that since I was fourteen. I don’t _like_ to and, I-I don’t…need to.” Smiling sheepishly at sounding arrogant, he shrugged.

”Haven’t had to _influence_ anyone in years.”

“I dreamed about you…I still do! You didn’t do that to me?”

“Swear on my life, I’ve never used my magic on you Arthur. _For_ you, never _on_ you.”

“You’re walking sex, Merlin. I felt it when we met.”

“Can’t help that, Arthur. I don’t _do_ anything, I just…am what I am.”

“Mine. Don’t care _what_ you are Merlin, you’re mine.”

“Yes…that shouldn’t be. You should be drained dry by now!”

“That _might_ have to do with how _I_ was born.”

“ _How_ …?”

“Father doesn’t know I know. He’d kill you for knowing…not that he wouldn’t kill you for…you. But this secret _means_ death.”

“Tell me.”

“I was conceived by magic. Father bargained with a sorceress for me. A life was the demanded payment; _his_ he thought. Instead my mother was lost and he’s hated magic ever since.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“I was little; I hid where I wasn’t allowed. I overheard him speaking to Gaius.”

“So you are magic incarnate? No wonder you feel so _good_. I’ve never had anyone like you before.”

“I don’t want you to have anyone else again.”

He looked deadly serious and Merlin reached up to stroke one high cheekbone.

“Me neither.” 

* * *

 

**44**

_**Warnings:** Some dub-con with a miniscule hint of size kink_

Labyrinthian

He should have known better than to travel through the forest. He’d been warned about its strange nature but took the shortcut through anyway and found himself hopelessly lost. No matter what direction Percival took he was always brought back to the same clearing, dominated by the same giant Oak. Whether it was along the river, through a cave, or down a path it did not matter for they all lead back to this place.

It reeked of mischief and it wasn’t a surprise. The Taura, Minotaur as they were sometimes called, were notorious victims of such fae pranks. Pulled tails, calf fur and mohawks shaved right off, and even inaccurate and downright rude doodles of them with the heads of steer instead of their proper humanoid faces were quite normal. So Percival simply found a soft cushion of moss to lay on, and prepared to wait the trickster out. He was patient and wary but strangely, after only a handful of hours, fell asleep in the cradle of giant tree roots.

He _really_ should have known better.

That’s how he found himself in this situation, startled awake in the late afternoon by weight between his thighs and a wet heat that sucked determinedly at his cock, his loincloth tossed carelessly to the side. He twitched and bucked helplessly in response, hooves scrambling anxiously against the ground. Despite his size and strength there was no escape from the firm grip the creature kept on his hips as it eagerly worked him over with its plump, pink mouth.

“ _Oh_! What are you--?! Stop! Stop _please_ \--!” He begged, face red with humiliation.

The creature, a boy, ignored him and continued to suckle with a blissful expression on his face. Percival was held still by his unnatural strength as he sucked, and choked on the long length of him. A low sort of keening built in the back of his throat only to escape as a shocked, too loud, cry in the quiet of the clearing. Eventually the boy pulled off with an insolent pop and satisfied hum and lowered his head to massage and mouth at the heavy weight of his sack, as if to soothe and excite him further at the same time. Futilely he fought against the feeling as it built in a relentless wave.

Percival writhed against the ground in pleasurable discomfort, balls tight against his body while his cock throbbed an angry red and dribbled against his abdomen. The boy moved and laved lovingly at the generous girth of the Taura’s dick with his tongue and Percival moaned at the exquisite sensation. He was swallowed down again with enthusiasm and immediately brought to the edge by the hot pressure of it. A deep, reassuring sound thrummed in the boy’s throat and that was his limit. Much to his mortification Percival shook and came in thick, shameful pulses that were quickly and greedily devoured. He bellowed his pleasure and fell back against the ground glassy-eyed and dazed, thighs quivering in reaction and unable to gather his wits.

The stranger was a young man with a wide smile and bright, happy blue eyes. His body was almost petite in comparison to the Taura’s impressive musculature. He would not be moved from his perch on Percival’s torso and held tight to the rigid curve of his horns for balance.

“Hi!” He grinned. “My name is Merlin.”

He looked over the handsome face and solid build of the body he held captive. Percival worked to control his breathing and stared back with wide eyes and pink cheeks. Merlin was naked, hard and leaking against the broad planes of Percival’s chest, and utterly secure in his perch. It was as if the weight of the whole forest was behind his eyes and the power in his slight form. He had him right where he wanted him.

Percival licked his lips nervously, “What--? Why--?” he stuttered.

Merlin cut him off with a noisy kiss.

“This is my place, my forest. You’re very attractive you know, and kind. I like you.” He stated, looked over Percival again with a pleased smile and hungry gaze. “I don’t want you to go just yet. Stay?” Merlin ran his mouth over the sensitive skin of his ear as it twitched wildly under his horn, nibbled on the little golden hoop dangling there. “Please?” He breathed plaintively.

Percival sighed, resigned. Nymphs were notoriously difficult to say “No” to, so he didn’t even bother to attempt it. 

* * *

 

**45**

_**Warnings:** Character death._

Uther had heard legends about them, creatures that appeared human, but could grant your greatest wishes. He'd scoffed at the time. He was his own man and could make his world perfect without any help.

~~~~  
Far away, on a snow covered hill, Nimueh cackled as she looked into the crystal. Uther Pendragon's life force would be hers.

~~~  
Uther had taken his kingdom by force. He rewarded his most trusted knights with lands to rule alongside him and built a kingdom from trust. Together they stood strong against their enemies.

Then there was Ygraine, sweet beautiful Ygraine. It had started as a marriage of convenience, but her sweet smiles and quiet wit had quickly melted Uther's hard heart. They had been thrilled when the physician had told them she was pregnant. His entire kingdom had rested on him having an heir, a strong and healthy son to inherit it.

The night of Arthur's birth was uneventful; there were no storms to mark its passing, just a quiet night damaged by the queen's screams as she labored. When the screams had silenced, a maid had handed him a bundle of squirming baby boy. Uther had never looked so at peace with the world than the first moment he rested eyes on his son.

Moments later his entire world had lain tattered at his feet. Gaius had walked out of the room and told him that Ygraine had died giving birth. Uther's vision had turned white with rage and he'd shoved Arthur back into the maid's arms.

He ended up in the west tower, kneeling on the floor, tears running down his face as he stared up at the sky and cursed all the gods he'd ever heard of.

~~~  
Nimueh smiled, moonlight glinting off her yellowed teeth. Tonight was the night all her planning would come to fruition. She walked into the tower and saw the broken man in front of her. She would build him up again.

She reached out and wrapped her hand around his shoulder. His warmth seeped into her cold touch and delighted her hunger even now.

"I can give you back your wife," She said before Uther had the chance to push her hand away. She watched as he sat frozen while contemplation and confusion clouded his pain and anger.

"How?" Uther said and his voice cracked.

"A pact sealed with a kiss. I give you what you want and in return I'll take something you'll never miss," Nimueh said.

"What will you take?" Uther asked.

"Nothing you'll even notice, my king." Nimueh responded.

"Do it," He said.

Nimueh saw his desperation and pushed her hand against Uther's forehead. There she wove his dream and took away his pain. She cackled as she laid herself over Uther's body and bathed in his strength as their cheeks rested together.

~~~  
Gaius came out of the room and beckoned Uther in. Uther walked in and saw his wife, worn out from the birth but still the most beautiful woman Uther had ever seen. He sat next to her and handed Ygraine her son. He had his kingdom and everything was perfect. Nothing could ever take it away.

~~~  
Months later, Gaius finally gave Ygraine the okay to try for a second heir. Uther smiled as he undressed his wife for the first time since the birth of their son.

His hand moved reverently over each new curve and his mouth latched onto her swollen breasts, seeking the milk that gave their son life. Ygraine moaned and writhed beneath him. She begged him for more and he was happy to oblige. He finally slid into her and they rutted together to completion. He ran a hand through her sweat slicked hair and kissed her forehead.

"I love you," Uther said. He fell into a quiet sleep before he could hear Ygraine's reply.

He never woke again.

~~~  
Nimueh stepped off Uther's body from where he laid. All the life had been sucked out of him. She stood naked, in the tower where she'd first started feeding. Her hand rested on her stomach where there was a glowing light.

"I think I'll name you Merlin," she said to the light. "Merlin will do quite nicely. Now let's go find you some nourishment, little one. You have big things ahead of you. You're going to bring acceptance to all our kind. We'll finally be able to share the light."

~~~  
Years later, Arthur and Merlin would meet. Their story has spanned centuries and continues to this day. 

* * *

 

**46**

_**Warnings:** blood play_

Arthur thought coming out as a vampire would make his life easier.

He was wrong.

The stigma against supernatural beings was fading with education and awareness. He no longer had to hide or dodge questions about his unusual habits, yet, he continued to encounter the ignorant.

“No, I don’t sparkle in the sunlight and I don’t watch people while they sleep!” Arthur said to another Twilight-reader at the club.

That last one was not entirely true. He did watch his flatmate sleep occasionally, but only when there was nothing good on the telly. It had nothing to do with pale skin in the moonlight and dark lashes that fluttered against sharp cheekbones.

She huffed, insulted, and walked away. Arthur sighed. It was a disappointing night and he decided to cut his losses and head home.

Maybe Merlin was still awake.

Arthur shared a flat with Merlin who was a reincarnation of the medieval sorcerer. (Arthur was certain he had met another incarnation of Merlin in a 17th century brothel but his Merlin didn’t need to know that.)

Merlin was magic. He kept odd hours, which was perfect for Arthur, and there was something to be said about a flatmate that wasn’t repulsed by pints of blood in the refrigerator. Merlin didn’t mind that Arthur was a vampire and Arthur didn’t mind when things in the flat randomly exploded from surges of magic. Merlin aged slowly. (“I think I’m immortal except when accidents happen, like witch hunts.”) His previous incarnations always left a hefty trust fund for the next Merlin to collect so he paid his own bills. He was quirky and peculiar and after centuries of searching, Arthur had found a perfect companion.

Arthur entered the flat, dropped his keys in the bowl by the door.

“Arthur? That you?” Merlin called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Merlin popped into the living room in a burst of magic wearing only pants, holding a plate of pizza.

“Bad night?” he asked around a mouthful of cheese.

Arthur pulled a face. “How can you eat that?”

“What? It’s good.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He brushed past Merlin, intent on warming up a pint of blood, when his senses were assaulted by a different scent. Nostrils flared, he drank it in - male, warm-blooded, clinging to Merlin’s skin. Arthur forced down the instinctive snarl at the thought of another person so close as to leave their scent behind.

“Were you out tonight?” Arthur asked, attempting nonchalance while his innate drives were demanding he bite and claim, erase the smell of another man all over Merlin.

Merlin shrugged. “Went out with Percy.”

Arthur stepped closer, predatory, nose skimming over Merlin’s cheekbone. Merlin stood still, unafraid, but Arthur could feel his confusion.

“Did you fuck?” Arthur asked, accusatory.

“Arthur! That is none of your business!”

Arthur burrowed in, found a spot behind Merlin’s ear that smelled only of him, breathed in deeply, his fangs descending with a click. Saliva filled his mouth at the scent of Merlin’s blood pumping underneath the thin skin of his throat and his cock hardened instantly, _want_ slamming into him.

Merlin was his.

He knew he needed to pull away or ruin the delicate balance they had perfected, this was a line they hadn’t crossed, but Merlin tilted his head, baring his neck.

“Do you want?” Merlin rasped, trembling.

Arthur didn’t fight the growl that rumbled up from his chest.

“If we do this,” Arthur warned, “I’m keeping you.”

Merlin swallowed. “I want that, Arthur. Please.”

Arthur slammed Merlin into the couch faster than a blink and Merlin’s eyes glowed gold, their clothes melting away in a flash. Arthur kissed him, bruising, claiming, as he settled between Merlin’s legs, Merlin’s cock hard against his. Arthur thrust and Merlin moaned, head dropping back into the cushion, throat exposed.

“Fuck, Arthur! I want… I want…” Merlin gasped, his fingers digging into the muscle of Arthur’s arse, urging him faster, their cocks slick with pre-come, sliding together deliciously.

“Tell me,” Arthur demanded, his balls tightening, orgasm building rapidly, imminent from the feel of Merlin writhing beneath him.

“Mark me.”

Arthur trailed his fangs along Merlin’s throat then bit down. Blood filled his mouth, delicious, warm, magical, quenching his thirst like nothing ever had before. He sucked, lapped at the wound, eager for every drop, coming with Merlin’s taste on his lips. Merlin cried out in pleasure-pain, shuddered through his orgasm as Arthur claimed him.

Arthur inhaled, satisfied Merlin now smelled only of him.


	3. Group C (with warnings)

**47**

"I know what you are."

The words are spoken almost into Arthur's ear. He spins, scowling. _He's_ the predator in the shadows, the one no one notices until it's too late. It shouldn't be possible for someone to startle him.

A young man smiles at him. It turns his face to sharp angles and his eyes make Arthur yearn for the sea.

"No," Arthur says. "You don't." If he knew, he wouldn't be there. He wouldn't stand so close.

Arthur's fingers flex as the hunger rises. The boy's pretty, and the sea so close. Arthur could have him there in a blink.

The young man leans in and plucks something that makes Arthur jerk back and shake his head, spraying salt water on them both.

He holds up a bit of kelp, wet and dripping and tangled in strands of Arthur's golden hair. "You're not exactly subtle."

He's wrong, though. People don't notice Arthur, not ever. Not until they're close enough it doesn't matter. He says that last part out loud.

"I'm not people." He offers the kelp like a gift. Arthur holds his hand out and the boy drops it into his palm. "I'm Merlin."

_Merlin_. The name sounds like the rush of the wind over swells and the crash of waves on the shore. Arthur rolls it around in his mind like a pebble so he can remember it later, when it's all that's left. "Why are you here?"

"I told you. I know what you are."

"You're either a liar or a fool."

Merlin's smile stretches. "I might surprise you." He leans in and puts his mouth to Arthur's, and does just that.

Arthur's hunger surges. He _wants_ Merlin, wants to own him, consume him. He's beautiful and brave, strange and fey, and he sees Arthur for who he truly is. He's the first of his kind, and that— That is something worth fighting the call of the sea for.

Arthur brings his hands to Merlin's head and drags him forward. Merlin gives a breathless laugh. He doesn't pull away when Arthur drags him into the grass, doesn't protest when his clothes are stripped away.

He's as pale as the moon, as lanky and bony as a newborn colt. His hands find purchase on Arthur's hips and drag him down.

Arthur clasps him close, breathing in the smell of grass and earth as he ruts against Merlin, and Merlin writhes beneath him. He grips tight, so there's no mistaking he wants to be there.

When desire crests, it leaves only hunger in its wake. Arthur pulls Merlin up, scents the air and turns until he can see the distant glint of sunlight off waves.

Merlin lays a gentling hand on his flank. Arthur shies and turns to him. If he's come to his senses, it's too late to beg for mercy. Merlin's touched him, and the sea's call can't be denied.

"It's okay," Merlin says, soft and smiling. "I told you. I know." He couldn't get away now if he tried, but he doesn't. He presses his hand to Arthur's skin, looks him in the eye, and waits.

Arthur lets the change overtake him. When it's done he's a horse, golden-coated with kelp braided through his mane. He tosses his head and stamps a hoof. Even then, Merlin's calm. He pulls himself onto Arthur's back and twists fingers through his mane as Arthur races toward the sea.

He runs straight into the waves, kicking foam up from his hooves. Merlin tightens his knees against Arthur's ribs as the frigid water climbs up his legs.

Even when the waves swallow them, Merlin just loops his arms around Arthur's neck as he carries them down, down, down.

When the sun is a distant glimmer and the water almost black, he shakes Merlin off and turns, teeth snapping.

Cool hands touch his face. Arthur snorts and tosses his head. The boy should have died. Instead, he stares at Arthur with golden eyes that light up the murk.

Shock pushes him back to his man-shape. Merlin's lips curve in the instant before he pulls Arthur's mouth to his. The kiss makes Arthur feel like _he's_ the one drowning.

"Surprised?" Merlin kisses Arthur again and presses the words against his mouth: "I told you I knew what you were."

For the first time he can remember, Arthur's hunger is the furthest thing from his mind.

* * *

 

**48**

keep it steady while your heart is hot

Mithian’s at the kitchen table when Elena wanders in, reading a newspaper and sipping at a mug of tea she doesn’t need to drink. Mithian looks up and smiles when Elena sits down across from her, even though Elena knows she saw her coming a mile off. 

“How did things go with Freya last night?” Mithian asks. 

“Fine, yeah,” Elena says, grabbing Mithian’s mug and taking a gulp, “except she couldn’t stay solid for longer than ten minutes at a time so she kept fading out when things started to get good.”

“Oh,” Mithian says, her cheeks pink. “Right, um, that does sound terrible.”

“Oh,” Elena says after a minute. “You didn’t want to know that did, you.” Mithian shakes her head, still blushing furiously. “Um, yeah. It went well! She didn’t punch me in the face when I kissed her, and she was pretty enthusiastic when I told her I liked her in a way which included wanting to have orgasms with her.”

“Right,” Mithian says, seeming to recover a little. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but not if we apparently can’t have the orgasms,” Elena says, and she’s trying not to pout, really she is, but it’s kind of hard not to be a bit sulky when the girl you want to have sex with isn’t capable of staying solid long enough for it to happen. 

“It’s not just about the sex, though, is it?” Mithian asks, and full credit to her, she doesn’t flush even a little. (Elena seriously doesn’t understand how a three-hundred-odd-year-old vampire can be prudish, or how she can find it ridiculously endearing, but there you go.)

Elena shakes her head vehemently. “I really, really like her,” she says, and Mithian ducks her head, glances away, “I do. And I can live without the sex, lord knows I’ve done it for long enough already, I just-” She breathes out a sigh. “I don’t know.”

“I think, um.” Mithian coughs, delicately. She’s staring fixedly at the wall behind Elena’s head. “I think I could possibly help. With. Um. That. I mean. I know things, about, about this kind of thing. I could... help, if you wanted.”

Elena’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “Mithian,” she says, and she’s sure she looks somewhere between shocked and impressed, “you aren’t suggesting a threesome, are you?”

“If I were,” Mithian says, and her voice is mostly steady but Elena’s known her for long enough now that she can hear the cracks creeping in at the corners, “what would be your response?”

Elena doesn’t even hesitate; she leans across the table and kisses Mithian hard. Mithian makes a soft, surprised noise, but she doesn’t try to pull away, and after a minute she tilts her head and, wow,yeah, that’s much better. Elena licks into Mithian’s mouth, lazy, her tongue catching on Mithian’s teeth and the sharp edges of her extended fangs, and Elena wonders if Mithian can bite her without turning her, if-

“Hey,” Freya says suddenly, sounding wounded. “Not fair, you can’t start without me.”

Mithian jumps back like she’s been burnt, her eyes wide. Freya’s floating in the air in front of them looking thoroughly unimpressed, arms 

“Freya,” Mithian says faintly. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“Like you weren’t enjoying the view,” Elena teases. 

“So you convinced her, then?” Freya asks Elena, cocking her head to one side. 

“Didn’t have to,” Elena says cheerfully. “She was the one who suggested it.”

“I- I- what?” Mithian says, looking helplessly confused, and Elena can only laugh. 

“Come on,” she says, taking Mithian by the hand and pulling them both to their feet. “The time for talking is after we’ve all got off, okay?”

Mithian doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t even try to resist when Elena pulls her off to the bedroom.

* * *

 

**49**

 

_**Warning:** Modern beach sex_

"Tampering with Evidence"

They had been searching for the idiot for hours. A trip to the shoreline surely should not be such a big deal, unless you go with Merlin. Arthur had told him to stay within his sight; they were down here searching for evidence. Three nights ago he never would have thought a small town murder would turn into a cold bloody case. He should have known when Merlin came along and said Gaius thought magic was involved. 

Arthur glanced at his watch and signed, combing the barren red flagged beach with his tired eyes. The other officers had gone home hours ago, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave yet. If he was dead he’d never hear the end of it from Gwen or Morgana. 

A sharp splash crashing against one of the rocky builds caught his attention and he wandered closer to peer into the gushing water. Was that a fish? He knelt down and saw the sparkle of something as the sun caught it. Scales? He reached for a stick and poked it, no movement. He tossed it aside and waded a foot into the-he was cast backwards.  
He shuffled in the sand a foot backwards as the thing came from the water, human skin, but bluish; scales jutting softly here and about in various places. He looked up, the thing was crawling on top of him. Wet black hair hung around his face, bright golden eyes staring down at him.

It was…it was Merlin.

Arthur frowned, “What on earth?!”

Merlin took his chin between his fingers and pressed wet lips to Arthur’s full ones. Arthur sank for a moment, but then his frown returned and he forced Merlin onto his back into the sand. The sorcerer’s legs fell apart, no longer fins. He seemed to be changing slowly, but his skin still glistened with half turquoise scales from the sea. He brushed a finger of Merlin’s ears; sharp and finlike. What was this about?

“Merlin?”

He cast him a hazy glance with those golden orbs that glanced off of the blue sheen on the scales and his ears. Arthur swallowed, leaning down, and then, “Don’t speak then,” his lips crushed against Merlin’s.

His fingers slid down his side, running over the small bumps occasionally unto he ran over the soft wet skin of his ass. Merlin as he was shuddered and lifted his leg with too much command for Arthur’s liking. He secured it over his shoulder and leaned over him, “I give the orders, remember,” and he twisted one of his nipples hard between his fingers.

Merlin’s back arched and Arthur gasped, feeling the tight plump skin press into his abdomen. His finger fell to his hole and ran a circle before he laughed, giving him a snide knowing look. He had already slickened himself, daring him to give it to him fast.

Arthur denied him and continued to play with his fingers. A small unusual sound slipped from Merlin’s lips and he wriggled on the sand, arching that crystal white body of his. Arthur smirked, sliding his finger up and catching some of the sand with his nail, rubbing it against his perineum. Merlin grasped desperate hands into the sand.

“How does that feel…the texture grinding against you…” he took his balls between his lips and sucked the wet salty taste from them.

“Is this what you’ve been doing while I’ve been searching for you all day? I ought to punish you…”

Merlin’s lips moved slightly and Arthur heard the feint sound of the word ‘prat’ in the air, but this only made his grin wider as he lowered his pants and plunged into him. 

“Ah-Arthur…no…stop…”

He ground deeper into him, “You should have thought about that…”

He bit at his knee, continuing to fuck him, grounding his protests and turning them into sounds he was want to hear for days. His hand slid along his cock, grinding move of the sand against his shaft. When they met, Merlin had finally become human again, ravished and tired beneath him. Arthur stood, washing some sand from his hands and buckled his pants anew, staring down at him.

“Get up. We need to tell everyone you’re not dead.”

Merlin watched him without moving until his golden eyes died away to blue, he sat up, drawing his legs to himself with a light flush, “You idiot.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, “I was thinking the same of you.”

Merlin shook his head irritably, “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Arthur’s muscles tensed. 

* * *

 

**50**

 

_**Warnings:** Consent is interesting: Merlin is a sex-bot Uther gave to Arthur who needs to be fucked for his systems to continue working._

***

'I realise that this sounds like a line from a bad porno,' says Merlin. 'But if you don't fuck me soon, I'll die.'

'You will not,' says Arthur, and removes Merlin's hand from his thigh.

'Well, I'll seize up,' Merlin counters. 'I know you didn't want me, but you must have read the sex-bot manual by now, surely? You haven't sent me back to the factory, so I guess you're going to keep me … but anyway, I swear, I need it. It's a, y'know, a lubrication issue.'

Programming a sex-bot to blush and pick his words carefully is either the worst or the best software decision ever made.

'I need servicing,' says Merlin, and puts his hand back on Arthur's thigh. His lashes fan down black over his soft, high cheekbones like they would if he really was the "come-hungry twink" the box he'd shipped in advertised.

But he isn't. He's something made of wires and metal and someone's cynical idea of what "sad desperate people" (like Arthur, according to his father) want out of a sexual partner.

'Service yourself,' says Arthur, refusing to let this turn into banter.

'I can't reach,' Merlin breathes, and climbs into Arthur's lap. 'Please. Just your fingers, Arthur, please. Anything.' He starts to unbutton his fly. Arthur should be pushing him away.

Arthur isn't. Merlin smiles.

When Merlin's naked from the waist down, he sits down again on Arthur's lap and leans forward. 'Put your fingers in me,' he breathes. 'Lube me up. You own me, Arthur - take care of me.'

His eyes are so blue - cobalt, #0047AB - and his lips are wet where he's licked them, and Arthur did read the manual and Merlin is telling the truth. It's an awful feature or a masterful one, again, Arthur can't decide.

'I can take care of you too,' Merlin breathes, and ghosts his arse over the erection that Arthur can't seem to will away. 'If you want.'

'I don't,' says Arthur, which is a lie but he has principles, dammit. 'But I'll - I'll help you.' The lube is cold on his fingers, but Merlin's pseudo-skin is hot. 'I'm only doing this because I don't mistreat things,' he says, trying to clarify. 'This is just a maintenance task, alright?'

'Mmm,' says Merlin, spreading his knees and wriggling against Arthur's fingers. 'Sure.'

Arthur pushes in, noting the level of resistance, the way Merlin's body gives and is soft inside, flesh-tone and body-heat and it really has been a long time since Arthur had enough time to even think about going out on the pull, about finding some … companionship …

'Ohhh,' says Merlin, leaning into Arthur's space to put his head on Arthur's shoulder. 'More, please Arthur, you feel so good -'

'What was that about lines from bad pornos?' Arthur says pointedly. He's got three fingers in Merlin now and he doesn't remember actually putting two of them there.

'Sorry, I'll be quiet,' Merlin pants.

He can't, though. Arthur knows this. He's had Merlin here for three weeks, and it's like having a robotic flatmate that tries to seduce you all the time, and one quirk of Merlin is that he cannot be quiet.

Arthur tries a fourth finger just to see if it will … be more efficient.

'Unnnh,' Merlin groans, and now he's sitting right on Arthur's crotch, and it's not Arthur's fault if his hips are lifting into the friction of their own accord. 'Will you just fuck me already,' Merlin breathes.

'No,' says Arthur, panting.

'Why not, God, _please_ -'

'Because I can't just - because my arsehole of a father just _gave_ you to me like you're a microwave, and it's wrong, is why.'

Merlin's palming Arthur's erection over and over and over, giving him a rhythm, and Arthur keeps talking. 'And I like you, and I - and I -'

'Sshhh,' says Merlin, licking Arthur's neck. 'You're so good for me Arthur, you've been so kind, let me do this for you, please.' And he pulls Arthur's fly open, takes out his cock to stroke it.

When Arthur's come beads on Merlin's pseudo-skin, it looks real.

* * *

 

**51**

She hates this rock, it is lonely and bare. It hasn’t been the same at all since her sister succumbed to the loneliness and left her here all alone. All those years ago. Her sister, the only one to ever call her by her given name, Morgana, only the seagulls and occasional hapless sailor or pirate to ease the boredom now but only for a while, they never lasted long enough. 

Then she sees him, floating on a piece of wreckage, waterlogged and barely clinging to life. She must have him. She rises off her perch on the rock and floats toward the shore an unearthly song rising from her lips drawing the man and his piece of wreckage closer to her shore. 

He doesn’t crash and ebb away as so many of them do, he lands softly at her feet as she continues to sing his fate. She transforms into something more pleasing to his eyes, gossamer thin robes with pale legs visible through, as he finds his footing on the land of her island.

“Who are you?” she hears him croak through a parched throat.

She continues singing, a lulling melody designed to pull him into her thrall. She knows this part it’s what she has done for eons, as long as men have roamed the sea.

“I know what you are. Merlin warned me about you. You’re a siren,” the man wheezes as he tries to drag himself away only to find himself closer to her and the song on her red lips, “I shouldn’t listen.”

She shakes her head at him as he tries to pull away from her and runs her pale finger down his bare arm. The man, she knows his name is Gwaine, shivers as her finger moves to his chest tracing patterns where the water is trickling down. 

He is a pretty one. Not all of them are so nice. She is going to have fun with this one. She crooks her finger and the remnants of Gwaine’s shirt disappear leaving him bare to her view.

“Hey now, that’s a little presumptuous for just having met! Not that I don’t like the idea because I really, really do but you haven’t even given me your name yet,“ Gwaine scowls at her as she continues singing softly, her hands traveling to his waist and his waterlogged pants.

She manages to get the pants open before he wrenches himself away from her and tries to run down the beach. She sings louder and sees him slow down and gradually make his way back to her. This pleases her and she makes it known in her song. 

“Okay, you win. I’ll stay. Don’t think it’s because you’re special either. You're the only female I’ve seen in months and I can’t afford to be choosy,” he says ruefully as she pulls him down to the sand on top of her.

She changes her song to a low, throbbing murmur as his fingers find her nipples and roll them between his thumb and forefinger, bringing them to stiff peaks as she pushes up into his hands. He bends his head and takes one in his month and sucks gently as his other hand moves between her legs palming her mound.

She grabs his head and pushes it down her body. He goes willingly kissing along her stomach as he gets lower and lower. His beard tickling her thighs as he parts her legs and settles in.

“You know what you want don’t you love?” he says with a grin as ducks his head and he licks at her. Her song goes low and soft as his tongue stabs at her clit bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. He gently sucks on her clit as his fingers find their way into her. Setting up a rhythm in time with his tongue. She rocks her hips forward encouraging him.

She wraps her legs around his head and pulls him close locking his mouth onto her sex. He hums as she rocks into him and comes as her song finally ends.

“This one is different, he challenges her. She’ll keep this one…for now,” She thinks as he falls into a deep sleep between her thighs.

* * *

 

**52**

**_Warnings:_** Dub con, bloodplay

Dreams of blood and pale skin drove Morgana from her bedchamber to the animals that offered freedom rather than judgment. A moonlight ride sounded like bliss, but she had to settle for her horse's companionship and the relaxing sensation of his muscles rippling beneath her cheek.

Something caught her hair and yanked her head back. Cool lips and cooler breath grazed over her ear.

"So you've finally come out to play..."

Gwaine's silken tone eased her momentary rush of fear. Though the fingers he knotted through her hair held her in place, he was no match for her powers. He couldn't be at full strength. Only three days had passed since he'd disappeared, four since Helios had locked him in with the creature they'd captured on a midnight raid. They'd thought it'd be entertaining for the pair to battle it out, but dawn had revealed an empty cell, the door ripped from its hinges.

Apparently, Gwaine had survived the creature's attack.

Morgana smiled. "Did you miss me?"

"Terribly."

Her breath caught when he licked a path down the side of her neck, but as she attempted twisting free, his grip tightened. Her eyes watered from the pull at her scalp, and she had to tilt her head back to lessen the sting.

His low chuckle reverberated through her skin. "Offering yourself, my lady? And here I thought you didn't care."

"I don't."

The power whipped from her fingertips to throw him off. Her horse skittered away as Morgana whirled to see Gwaine sprawled in the hay.

"You were a fool to come back here," she snapped.

In the darkness, his eyes glowed. "You really think I'd come back alone?"

The magic came from her left, catching her waist and slamming her into the wall. A moment later, invisible shackles trapped her wrists, but when she cried out, a different hand clamped over her mouth.

Merlin gazed down at her, his eyes still sparking from the magic in their depths. The mocking curve of his smile displayed the deadly pinprick of fangs. "Hello, Morgana."

Gwaine rested his chin on Merlin's shoulder. "As good as you imagined?"

"Not yet." Running his tongue along his teeth, Merlin glanced at her throat, then at the swell of her breasts. Under his hungry gaze, her nipples betrayed her by peaking into aching points. "But I'm starting to understand why you wanted me to wait to eat."

Gwaine reached around and caught her bodice, ripping away the fabric like it was nothing.

When her breasts came free, Merlin hissed, a shivery sound that went straight to her pussy, and he ducked his head to flick his tongue across the nearest exposed nipple. She tried to squirm, break free, get closer, anything but remain helpless to the rising fire beneath her skin, but Merlin was having none of that.

"Smell her," Gwaine murmured. "She's wet for this."

Though Morgana fought to deny it, the evidence slicked the inside of her thighs. Merlin's nostrils flared, and a single fang raked across her breast.

She felt her whimper shuddering through both of them.

The long, thick line of Merlin's cock dug into her stomach when he lifted his mouth to her ear. "Don't let Gwaine fool you. Coming back was my idea. I've waited a long time for you, Morgana."

His hand fell away, but the shouts and spells she'd expected to unleash failed to come. She watched, mute, as he dropped to his knees to splay his long hands on each of her thighs.

Gwaine stepped closer, pale fingers pinching her nipples into submission. "I promised Merlin he could have first taste, but that's just because I know how much you like to watch me fight for my food."

Merlin laughed, and his nose nudged against her swollen clit. "Like I won't enjoy that, too."

Gwaine filled her head with images of the pair of them, of Merlin choking on his cock, of his fangs buried in Merlin's neck. Her resistance was gone, replaced by the raging desire each stoked inside her. She writhed against Merlin's mouth when he sucked at her juices, gasped every time Gwaine found a new spot to torture. Relief only came when Merlin bit into the tender flesh of her thigh, four fingers buried inside her pussy.

The seal of Gwaine's mouth over hers cut off her scream, his fangs slicing across her lips to feed both of them her blood.

It wouldn't be her last of the night.

Thankfully.

* * *

 

**53**

**_Warning:_** Food Kink, Oral Sex

Arthur hated the feast. As the bottom ranking fairy of his clan, he was stuck serving. The feast of berry and nectar teased his senses but he was not allowed to taste it. Ever since he had been little he had been told he looked too human and didn’t have enough magic.

“The high table beckons,” another servant informed him.

He looked and saw Merlin staring at him from across the room. Arthur almost wondered if he was imagining things. Merlin was the single most powerful fairy in all the land. His words could turn winter into summer; and his features unearthly so that no one would mistake him for human. He was everything a fairy was supposed to be, and everything Arthur was not.

Making his way forward, he hoped he wouldn’t trip on his own feet and forever be an outcast.

“You asked for some fruit?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, come with me,” Merlin commanded. He stood swiftly and Arthur followed Merlin out into the night. “I would like some honey, please.”

Sighing, unsure why they had left the feast, Arthur dipped his spoon into the sticky substance and offered it to Merlin. 

“No. I want you to feed me the honey.”

“Oh,” Arthur muttered, turning away to hide his blush. It was another human reaction which was usually frowned upon. He dipped a finger in and offered it to Merlin. He wrapped his mouth around Arthur’s fingers and sucked them. It sent a jolt of arousal straight to Arthur’s cock.

“More,” Merlin commanded again.

Arthur offered his fingers, barely even breathing as this high fairy sucked at his fingers.

“Hand me the jar.”

Arthur passed the jar of honey to Merlin. With wide eyes, Arthur watched as Merlin dipped his own fingers into the amber honey. Arthur thought Merlin was going to break every tradition and rule of the fairies and offer him to taste the honey from his own fingers.

Instead, he used his honey-coated fingers to grab his full erection. Arthur watched in confusion as Merlin threw his head back and made his cock slick with honey.

“Taste it,” Merlin whispered hoarsely.

“I can’t,” Arthur sighed. “I’m not allowed to taste the honey.”

“What is the worst offence?” Merlin argued. “Wouldn’t it be a much larger crime to waste it?”

“Yes,” Arthur whispered enthralled.

“Taste it,” Merlin tried to command, but it came out as a plea. Unable to resist any longer, Arthur dropped to his knees. Grabbing the cock in front of him at the base, he licked the very tip.

The sweet honey and salty precome exploded in his mouth and made him ache for more. Placing his lips around Merlin’s cock, he mirrored the way Merlin sucked his fingers earlier. The honey sweeter than anything Arthur had ever tasted in his life. He felt it hum against his fairy magic, the little bit he had deep down inside. His magic, so small in comparison to Merlin’s started to thrum and thrust against Merlin’s.

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin moaned. He sent his magic curling downward, and let it wrap Arthur’s neglected cock.

Moaning, he took as much as he could. He refused to let it choke him like those humans he had once spied on. He bobbed and sucked and let himself relish the honey, the thrum of fairy magic and the way Merlin’s thin fingers clutched at his hair.

Finally with no warning, Merlin was coming in his mouth. It was too much, too sweet and salty and the magic exploded around them. Arthur came.

Sitting back on his heels, he watched as Merlin closed his eyes to recover.

Swallowing as the bitter reality penetrated the bliss of climax and honey, Arthur realized how much Merlin would regret letting someone as low-classed as him taste not only honey, but his essence. Grabbing his tray from where it had been abandoned, Arthur made to quickly retreat back to the feast.

“I expect you to be in my rooms later tonight,” Merlin said, stepping in front of Arthur.

“Right,” Arthur muttered, unable to hide a smile. He made a mental note to steal a few of the pots of honey from the feast.

* * *

 

**54**

_**Warnings:** (implied past) major character death; grieving_

Arthur was drinking his 10-year-old first anniversary wine directly out of the bottle. He hadn’t unpacked the wine glasses yet and his and Merlin’s tenth anniversary wasn’t for another two months, but he didn’t want to wait.

This was his first night alone in the new flat and the whole place was a nightmare. It was clean and modern and completely lacked any sense of style or personality.

He missed the old flat with the broken dishwasher, and the homemade curtains, and the nutcrackers in every room because Merlin had never met a nut he didn't like. Arthur missed the smell of Merlin's shampoo in the shower and the dent in the kitchen door frame Merlin had made when he drunkenly walked into it with a sculpture Arthur had just bought for him for their fifth anniversary.

Here in the new flat there were no signs that Arthur had ever belonged to anybody but himself, no hints that he had ever loved or lost.

Arthur had left the old flat because he hadn't been able to breathe in it. Merlin was _everywhere_ , even though he was nowhere.

In the new flat, Merlin’s absence, the absence of memories lurking around every corner, wasn't a relief. It was a burden. Now Arthur alone carried the responsibility of keeping Merlin's memory alive.

Arthur fell asleep on the couch, the old bottle of wine nestled safely between his thighs.

When he woke up, Merlin was there, smiling and brushing a soft hand over Arthur's arm. Arthur almost couldn't feel it. Merlin wasn't quite solid. There was no pressure on his arm, no long-missed and familiar touch of skin against skin. There was only a hint, a tease, a ghost of contact.

"You're here," Arthur said, or maybe the words were only in his head.

Merlin nodded and moved in for a kiss.

The kiss was strange and cold. Arthur’s hands kept slipping right through Merlin’s form. He wanted to drown himself in Merlin's skin, but he couldn't. He couldn't even nuzzle Merlin's neck in search of the scent that haunted his dreams.

Nothing was enough. Merlin's tongue in his ear was a quick breeze. Merlin's hand on his chest was less than an exhale. Merlin's hips rolling against his was nothing at all, even after Arthur had moved the wine bottle.

Merlin leaned back and gave Arthur a meaningful look. Arthur licked his lips, hoping to taste even the hint of a memory of Merlin on them, but there was nothing. He reached down, pulled out his cock, and worked himself roughly.

With a smile still on his face, Merlin covered Arthur's hand with his own, and Arthur's world exploded.

Merlin was there and solid and _real_. Arthur could touch him and hear him, smell him and taste him. Merlin moved in for another kiss and Arthur arched into it, feeling Merlin on every inch of him.

Letting go of his cock, Arthur reached desperately for Merlin's instead. He wrapped his fingers around it greedily and Merlin gasped against his lips. After a moment of indecisive fumbling, Arthur settled into a familiar rhythm that left Merlin breathless and squirming but not coming yet. Merlin did the same for Arthur, teasing and pulling on his cock but not fast or hard enough to bring him over the edge.

With a whinge that almost broke Arthur, Merlin shoved his hips forward until his cock was flush against Arthur's. Arthur moved his hands to Merlin's arse and gripped it tightly as Merlin's hips rolled against his with an intoxicating slide.

"I love you," Merlin said against Arthur's neck.

Arthur clenched his jaw and pulled Merlin more roughly against him.

"Love you, too," he groaned out. He was so close. "So much. You're perfect."

Merlin laughed breathlessly and reached between them to wrap his endless long fingers around them both. Arthur groaned and tossed his head back, ready for release.

"I miss you," Merlin breathed into Arthur's ear.

Arthur cried out as his orgasm washed over him in harsh waves. His eyes slammed shut and his body jerked and shuddered through it, his hips straining toward the hand that was no longer there.

A moment later it was over and Arthur was left panting and alone on the couch, his stomach covered in come and his feet covered in the vintage wine that had spilled. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and face the empty flat, so instead he stretched out and waited for sleep to overtake him again.

"Miss you, too," he whispered to no one.

* * *

 

**55**

Arthur runs his hands along Merlin's body. But it's not a body. Not really. It's an industrial strength alloy skeleton; a mould that’s snapped together seamlessly with plastic and glue, interwoven with electrical sensors to duplicate human-like sensory experiences, over which lays a pale gelatine. It's a body in the shape and texture under Arthur's fingers, a magic trick that gets Arthur every time.

But Merlin is not human.

**

Arthur tinkers with the programming. He is no expert, but he knows what he wants. It's trial and error to change anything in the myriad of wires and synaptic tubes. When he's done, Arthur experiments.

They sit close together. Merlin is telling him about his duties for the day.

"I don't mind changing your sheets," he says. "I like it when the hospital corners are tight and-"

Merlin stops talking and looks down at Arthur's hand, which is rubbing between his legs. But other than the brief pause before Merlin describes why hospital corners are better than regular old tucking and folding, Merlin doesn't seem bothered. Arthur fondles him. Merlin is unresponsive.

When Arthur finally pulls away and rises to leave, he runs his fingers absently through Merlin's hair. The look on Merlin's face would be perfect, if only his eyes weren't so empty.

"I care about you, you know," Arthur admits.

Merlin smiles. It's in his programming to smile when Arthur compliments him.

There's nothing there.

**

Arthur's tinkering borders on obsessive. He ignores half of his duties as captain of the spaceship just to toy with Merlin's robotics. He's already put First Officer Lancelot in charge three days in a row. But Arthur sees what's necessary. It's not the wires or the tubes—it's the chips in Merlin's positronic brain. The technology doesn't quite exist for what Arthur needs, but a few electrical impulses later, he knows he's on the right track.

"Shall I kneel too?" Merlin asks. He's watching Arthur below him with interest.

"No," Arthur says shortly. He clears his throat, hands trembling on the clasps of Merlin's uniform trousers. "No. Please. Stand there...and tell me what you feel."

Merlin looks confused. He watches Arthur take the head of his prick between his lips. It may be flaccid, but Arthur moans around it nonetheless, the taste still exactly what he wants.

"But, sir, I _don't_ feel."

Arthur's head stops bobbing, his fingers linger on the soft curve of Merlin's bollocks. It takes a moment to gather the strength necessary to pull away, to bow his head in front of Merlin and tear at his own hair in agitation.

"Sir?" Merlin asks. There is something like worry in his voice, because he is programmed to protect Arthur.

"I'm fine."

But he isn't. Falling in love with an android—a _servant_ droid—is not something any sane, rational man would be fine with. And damn it, Arthur does loves him. But how can he love something that isn't capable of understanding or returning the emotion? Any emotion.

Merlin may not feel yet. But he will.

**

"Like this?"

Merlin bends over the bed. It shouldn't be possible for something inhuman to look so beautiful. Arthur takes his time running his hands along Merlin's flanks, the exquisite architecture of his body. Beneath his fingertips, Merlin feels so...real. Human.

After weeks of electrifying positrons, embedding data, and manoeuvring programs, Arthur has vowed this will be his last attempt. He cannot waste his life on a fruitless endeavour, no matter how tempting.

"Just like that," he whispers, kissing Merlin's spine. "Close your eyes. Tell me what you feel."

Arthur spreads Merlin's supple cheeks, uses both thumbs to pry his tight, furrowed hole wide open. He looks at it, dizzied by his want, and then leans in to lick it, to draw his aching tongue along the crease and delve in as deep as he dares go. His tongue wriggles, saliva spills, and moans tumble unbound from his lips.

Above him, Merlin shudders. Some hoarse sound like a grunt fills the air, chilling Arthur's bones. When he pulls back enough to observe Merlin, he sees his body hunched, his long fingers gripping the sheets wrinkled, and a look of pure pleasure stretched across his face.

"I feel.... _oh_ ," Merlin gasps. "Don't stop, sir. Please."

" _Arthur_ ," he insists. "Call me Arthur."

Merlin is shaking as he cranes his neck, meeting Arthur's gaze over his shoulder. "Arthur," he moans, the spark of life in his voice, in his eyes.

* * *

 

**56**

_**Warnings:** dub-con (but don’t blink, or you’ll miss it)_

You know, sparkly vampires are cool, too.

“You fucking sparkle, don’t you?” Merlin asked, incredulous. “You’re like that fucking bitch Edward Cullen, aren’t you?”

Arthur, sitting on Merlin’s bed, shook his head. “I can’t believe I just told you I’m a vampire and the only response you have is to accuse me of being a whiny douche bag.”

But Merlin continued on, undeterred and pacing the length of the bed. “Oh my god, you’re Edward Cullen. This is tragic. Tragic, Arthur! You want to know why? Because that makes me MOTHER FUCKING BELLA SWAN!” Merlin’s eyes were wide and if Arthur weren’t so concerned that Merlin was actually in shock, he’d find the whole situation hilarious. “How could you make me Bella Swan, Arthur? HOW?!”

“You are not Bella Swan, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur sighed.

“You are, without a doubt, the _worst_ vampire boyfriend in the ENTIRE WORLD!” he shouted. “Lame and sparkly!”

Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s belt loop and pulled him down on the bed, successfully pinning him with his body. When Merlin’s eyes widened, Arthur growled deep in the back of his throat, lustful, and said, “I’ll show you a lame, sparkly vampire,” before crushing his lips against Merlin’s.

Merlin, in his stubbornness, tried to push Arthur away, shoving the heels of his hands into Arthur’s shoulders. But Arthur just kept on. He let his hands slide into Merlin’s soft hair, pulling gently on the strands the way Merlin liked - a direct contrast to the bruising kisses he was planting against his mouth. And when Merlin gasped, like Arthur knew he could, he licked into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around Merlin’s.

Never able to resist Arthur, Merlin finally relented with his unsuccessful pushing and kissed Arthur back, both of their bodies responding to the touch of the other. Merlin’s hands glided over the planes of Arthur’s back, before resting them on his arse, pulling Arthur down hard into his growing erection. It was Arthur’s turn to gasp.

Arthur had done everything in his power to make Merlin his boyfriend when he’d first met him. He hadn’t been the usual type for Arthur - the exact opposite of bulging muscles, light hair and bad attitudes - but there had been something about him. Arthur had followed him around like a puppy for months before Merlin had stopped acting like Arthur was something he’d found stuck to the bottom of his shoe and started responding positively to his failed attempts at humor and generally sleazy pick-up lines.

It had been two months into their relationship before Merlin confessed that he’d just thought Arthur was poking fun at him in the first place. Someone like Arthur was never interested. It was then that Arthur knew he had to tell Merlin his secret. It was only right. Arthur loved Merlin. He needed to know.

Arthur felt Merlin’s teeth scrape along his jaw down to his neck in an insane twist of irony, before Arthur growled in frustration and started ripping at both of their clothes. Arthur let his hands memorize the soft lines and sharp corners of Merlin’s body as each inch of skin was exposed. He let his tongue work up the inside of his naked thigh and breathed in his scent.

His head spun when his lips locked around Merlin’s leaking prick and he heard Merlin shout in ecstasy above him. Arthur forced himself to go slow, even though it was killing him to not take, take, _take_ at vampire speed.

Arthur sucked hard - knowing Merlin was close - and barely scraped his teeth against Merlin’s cock. Merlin’s hands tangled in Arthur’s hair. Arthur moaned and pressed his index finger into his tight hole. Merlin came hard in his mouth, choking out a, “nrgh.” Unable to stop himself, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s ankles, shoved them up over his shoulders, and immediately pushed his hard and leaking cock into Merlin’s arse.

Head thrashing side to side, Merlin begged for more.

Arthur felt himself lose control, his speed quickening and his body thrumming, lighting. “So fucking tight,” he ground out.

Merlin’s mouth was caught in an “O” below him, watching the way Arthur moved inside him, and the glow around them. When Merlin moaned, “ _Arthur_ ,” it was his undoing.

Arthur spilled into Merlin and he watched the tendrils of light curl from his body into Merlin’s, spreading.

Merlin, delirious, looked at Arthur and accused, “You _do_ fucking sparkle!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Bella.”

* * *

 

**57**

Merlin shivered as Arthur dragged the tip of one fang over the skin at the base of his throat, his chilly breath making Merlin’s skin break out in goosepimples.

“Arthur,” he moaned. “You– You’re a, a¬¬–” He broke off when Arthur dipped his hands under the waistband of his trousers and skimmed cold fingers along his cock.

“A what?” Arthur asked. “I’m curious, Merlin. What do you think I am?”

The hand inside his pants was making it hard to think, and all his weight rested on the wall behind him. He groaned when Arthur slipped a knee between his legs, nudging them apart, until they were obscenely spread and Merlin had no choice but to clutch Arthur for support.

Arthur’s other hand trailed down his side, the fingertips ghosting over the thin fabric of his t-shirt and making Merlin shudder. He arched as best he could and blushed hotly when Arthur chuckled.

“You’re a _vampire_ , you prat,” Merlin said. He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and pulled him into the empty space between his legs, tugging him close until their bodies were pressed flush together. “Which makes sense, considering how narcissistic you are.”

Arthur threw back his head and laughed, and Merlin took the opportunity to press kisses at the base of his throat, and when Arthur rolled his hips, he bit down hard. Arthur moaned, the sound thick and heavy in the air.

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “Merlin, you gorgeous thing.”

That was all the warning Merlin got before Arthur slipped his other hand under the waistband of his trousers, moved his fingers to the cleft of his arse, and pressed the tip of one finger inside.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Merlin moaned, his hips rolling against Arthur’s. “Oh god, oh god.”

Arthur pushed his finger in deeper, deeper, until finally it could go no further. “You like that?”

Merlin let out a whine. His hips were still moving, and now….

_Yes,_ Merlin thought, as Arthur’s finger pulled out, pushed back in, fucking into him.

“God, you’re so greedy for it,” Arthur said, his mouth pressed against Merlin’s ear.

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, to tell him to shut up and either fuck him or suck him, but the Arthur was pressing in a second finger and the words died somewhere in his throat. Arthur laughed and stepped backwards, pulling Merlin with him, and suddenly Arthur was his only support, a hand at the small of his back and the fingers in his arse the only thing keeping him upright.

And _oh god,_ Arthur was still talking, still mumbling those words that made him squirm in all the right places, and he wantd to nod in a agreement and tell Arthur to take _everything_.

Arthur pushed in a third finger, found his prostate, and began _pressing_.

“Oh _god_ , Arthur, oh please please please…” he kept mumbling litanies and begging Arthur, trying desperately to get some sort of purchase but his feet were just too far spread.

“I’m not going to fuck you. You’re going to come on my fingers like the perfect whore you are–”

Merlin let out a choked sob–

“And then, I think you’ll hold yourself open for me, on your knees, and I’ll fuck you slowly. I’ll fill you slowly – agonizingly slow because I have all the time in the world – and then I’ll pound you. I’ll pound you through the floor and while you scream–” the nail of his finger scraped over Merlin’s prostate and Merlin saw stars as he came, “I’m going to feed off of you.”

And then Arthur was maneuvering him to the floor, to his knees, and guiding his hands to his arse. His trousers were gone, he didn’t where, and he didn’t care. He gripped him arse and spread himself, his forehead pressed against the ground.

“Maybe I’ll turn you, so we can do this for all eternity, you finding pleasure only at the end of my cock, but not right away. Because Merlin–”

And Arthur was slipping in, his cock filling and stretching him, and Merlin never wanted to be anywhere else, he never wanted to not be getting fucked, getting pounded into the floor (just like Arthur had said, Merlin thought, and he resisted the urge to laugh as his knees gave out and then he really was being pounded into the floor).

“–there are so many interesting, _pleasurable_ ways to feed off the human body, and I want to try them all.”

* * *

 

**58**

The Prince of Elves has always fascinated Mordred. Even from a spying distance, Merlin Emrys' eyes sparkle azure in Ealdor's light, and Mordred has seen them flash molten gold when he performs his magic. Merlin's powers are unrivalled throughout Ealdor, as Mordred's are in Avalon, and Mordred can't help but be drawn to the Prince of Elves.

However, Ealdor hates Avalon on principle, just like Camelot, in the sky, hates them both equally too. Millennia ago, humans once called Ealdor 'Earth', Avalon 'Hell' and Camelot 'Heaven', but humans barely exist anymore - driven away by the tenacity of the dwarves, the beasts that emerged, such as centaurs and werewolves, and of course, the magic of the elves.

As the Prince of Devils, Mordred's powers are equal only to his father's, Merlin, and Merlin's father. Camelot has no magic, banned by the King of Angels, but they have their wings to carry them high above Albion, the unity of all three divides.

Mordred has longed to talk to Merlin for hundreds of years. He appears on the surface of Ealdor every month to seek out his fellow Prince, to watch him from the shadows.

Mordred had never expected _this_ , though.

"Arthur, I need you, I, fuck, _please_."

Merlin is pressed into the wall, fingers roving through blonde hair, leaving faint red marks down flawless skin. His lips seek another, and they press against him hard.

It is none other than Prince Arthur of Camelot, white wings spread wide above them.

"I thought about you every day, every single fucking day," Arthur's panting harshly into Merlin's ear, licking at the sharp edge that has Merlin melting with a moan against his body. "Thought about opening you up and fucking you until your eyes turn gold."

Merlin whines against Arthur's mouth as they kiss, tongues waging a similar ferocious war with their hands as they find clothing to tear, to dispose of, leaving only skin on skin.

"Don't leave me again," Merlin whispers against Arthur's jaw as a finger presses up into his arse.

"I don't want to," Arthur says, making it two fingers, Merlin opening up for him easily. His wings tremble, reflecting rays of light against the walls.

"Arthur," Merlin chokes, because it's three fingers now, and he buries his face in Arthur's shoulder. " _Arthur_."

With a quick flip, Merlin's front is pressed against the wall, and Arthur pulls his arse up towards him. His cock, wet at the head, slides along the parting of Merlin's cheeks.

"You're so beautiful, Merlin," Arthur murmurs roughly, before nudging his way past the ring of muscle, and settling in a tight wet heat. Merlin cries at the sensation of being filled, his cock hard and aching pressed into the wall.

"Fuck, your dick," he whimpers. "Please... fuck me already, Arthur."

Their rhythm is slow at first, Arthur thrusting with precision and care, Merlin making choked noises. But soon, Merlin is moaning, _more, harder, fuck me, yes, yes_ , and Arthur grabs Merlin's hips; the slap of his balls are loud and fast as his rhythm falls apart, the movement of his wings causing a breeze in the room.

Merlin turns his head sideways, lays an ear against the wall. "I love you," he says fiercely, looking into Arthur's eyes. “I don’t care about anything or anyone else, _I love you_.”

Arthur leans forward, still fucking deep and hard as he kisses Merlin. "Until the day Albion's sun burns my wings off, I will love you,” he whispers.

Merlin closes his eyes, and when Arthur nips at the edge of his pointed ear, he shakes against the wall as he comes to the litany of Arthur's name.

Arthur growls as Merlin paints the wall white. He fucks once, twice, three times, then moans, "Fuck, _Merlin_ ," and comes in his arse.

The Prince of Angels' wings shine such a heavenly white that when Mordred comes to the frantic pumping of his hand, he thinks, _Father was wrong. Angels are beautiful too._

* * *

 

**59**

He remembers his early days: they’re carefully stored in the memory chip to the left in his head, together with every mistake he’s ever made. He remembers not having any fingers; remembers learning about standing up and falling down, and how one was good and the other was _wrong, wrong, wrong, dammit_.

He remembers the faulty click-click-click his humanoid eyes made at first, and the feeling of something like skin being wrapped around his joints; the movies they showed him to learn about human interactions. The one with the swords was his favourite. The last thing they gave him was a name.

They looked him up and down and told him he was perfect, perfectly human, no one would know. They sent him out into the world.

*

They came by to tinker at him; laughed; told him perfection takes time.

He tried a little harder still.

*

He doesn’t know why he chose this house. Arthur has no concept of the world being big or small; he divides it into high roads and forgettable streets, which he stores away just the same. He never gets lost.

He needs to be lost. Thinking about the scrap heap makes his circuits stutter, even if he’s not human.

The house is a shack in the middle of the woods; he worries it might be too obvious. He thinks about being dismantled here, about Merlin having the house to himself again.

He never thinks about leaving.

*

Arthur’s used to the city; the forest trips him up. The litany of _not good enough_ fades with time, just a little, when there’s no one to find him lacking.

He likes to run through the woods, free; he likes it even more now that it draws Merlin out of the house, bit by bit. They laugh together under the light of the moon, and if sometimes there’s a nervous edge to it, that’s all right.

Arthur likes the way Merlin laughs, even though it makes him feel funny. At first he thought there was something wrong with his circuitry; but maybe it’s just Merlin’s magic.

*

‘Oh, come on, hurry up, C3PO,’ Merlin shouts.

‘Keep your shirt on, _Casper_ ,’ Arthur says on his way in.

Merlin grins wide, the cards shuffling themselves in midair. He looks far too happy to see Arthur for someone who spent the better part of a week trying to scare him away. Merlin’s mouth seems to forget its downwards turn more and more often, too, the motion gone rusty.

‘What happened?’

‘I fell,’ Arthur says, short. ‘Not perfect,’ he snorts.

‘We’re all flawed.’ Merlin smiles like it’s a good thing, and Arthur will never understand him, but he feels better all the same.

Merlin’s touch isn’t strong enough to hold Arthur’s leg steady; it feels like nothing so much as a warm bubble. It always makes Arthur’s skin tingle.

After, Arthur ends up with cards stuck in odd places. It shouldn’t feel like this. His cock is only reacting to touch because it is programmed to, but Merlin is stretched over him, and it doesn’t matter that he’s a ghost; to Arthur, he feels like warmth and life, and Arthur’s skin feels alive, too.

People have always manhandled Arthur, touched him everywhere, but with Merlin it feels different. Merlin’s eyes go wide with a want that isn’t just material greed, and when Merlin tells him to touch himself, there is no machine measuring his reactions. There’s just Merlin mouthing at his cock, whimpering with it, wanting, wanting, wanting, and Arthur thinks, _please_. _Please, let me stay_ , and comes when Merlin tells him to, jerking, unable to hold still, but he thinks Merlin doesn’t mind.  
*

Arthur stares at the smouldering heap under the black moon.

‘I guess my magic is strong enough anymore,’ Merlin says, defeated. Arthur steps forward, mimics wiping the tears from Merlin’s cheeks, rubs them under his own eyes; smiles a little sadly.

‘Sorry,’ Merlin says. He wants to be human as much as Arthur does. But Merlin is still here, and Arthur feels relief, too. Who knows what Merlin the human would have wanted?

They sit outside for a while, till Arthur says, ‘Come to bed?’

‘I’ll protect you, you know. If they come for you,’ Merlin says out of nowhere.

‘Chase them off like you did me?’ Arthur smirks.

‘Yeah, well. I might not have been trying all that hard, Wall-E.’ Merlin pretends to shove him, and they laugh.

*

Later, Merlin wraps around him like a warm blanket, and Arthur, Arthur smiles. Belongs.

* * *

 

**60**

“Comfortable?” said the robot.

Up close, its the skin had a plasticy sheen to it and he could see the tiny parts moving in its bright blue retinas. “Not really.”

“Let me help you with that.” The robot peeled off its shirt and set to work on Arthur’s.

He didn’t try and stop it, partly because he was too flabbergasted, and partly because, well, he’d already paid.

“When I said I wasn’t comfortable,” he said, voice half-muffled by his shirt. “I meant –” the robot’s lips were on his neck, his shoulder, searching out the sensitive spots with uncanny precision, “– I meant I wasn’t comfortable doing this with a sex robot.”

“I’m not a sex robot.” Its fingers brushed Arthur’s nipple, pressure just-right. “I’m a reprogrammed waiter.”

“What,” said Arthur, but the robot was gone already, slinking down its chest, mouthing at his belly, toying with the hair. It was going over sensitive places he hadn’t even known he had. “What the hell even are you.”

“I just told you.” It was opening up Arthur’s trousers with one hand while the other gripped his thigh.

“No, I meant,” Arthur choked out, “what kind of robot?” He was starting to see the appeal of this. He was straining hard already and the robot had barely got his dick out of his trousers.

“Emrys series.” The robot shifted Arthur’s clothes aside to get at his cock, “Discontinued Thirty-Thirty-Three.”

“Why –” Arthur broke off to catch his breath as its impossibly-wet mouth wrapped around the head of his dick. “Why’d they discontinue you?”

“Mmph,” said the robot. His dick slipped out of its mouth. “Shut up and let me give you the best blow job you’ve ever had.” It took maybe a split second to get it right, exactly the right angle and pressure, tonguing at the sweet spot just below the head that never failed to turn Arthur’s brain to liquid.

“Sweet holy Space-Jesus,” he moaned.

Its mouth slipped off him wet a wet sound. “Merlin. You can call me Merlin.” It had an altogether too human look in its artificial eyes.

“Oh, you –” he said, “get on with it.”

It smiled a smile that was almost knowing, then slowly eased Arthur’s dick back into its mouth, that look never leaving its eyes.

“Oh fuck.” Arthur’s hips were already thrusting upwards of their own accord, barely staying on the chair. “Oh fuck. Oh god, oh god.” He let out a whimper, than clamped his jaw shut.

It was so good it was impossible. Like some kind of magical blow-job machine. The robot sucked Arthur’s dick like he honestly loved it, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, but at the same time with that cold, mechanical precision – because it wasn’t magic, it was science, just science, it was programmed to analyse his body and find the right way to pleasure it, that was all this was, it wasn’t real, it couldn’t possibly be real –

“Oh god,” he said after, gasping, “oh god, oh god.” The robot was climbing back onto his lap, hands stroking their way up his flanks, and he shivered.

“So,” it said brightly, “best you’ve ever had or best you’ve ever had?”

Its fingers toyed with the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. It took a while for Arthur to answer. The robot was so _casual_ , like it hadn’t just stripped him raw and exposed, like it hadn’t just reduced him to a writhing mess – he blinked, took a breath, and tried to respond in kind.

“Well, you could have taken your time over it a bit more.”

“You wanted it quick.” The robot shrugged.

“I shall complain to your owner.”

“Don’t have an owner,” said the robot. “I own myself.” It kissed him. Arthur flinched back. “Calm down,” it pressed the palm of one hand against his face. “You like to be kissed.”

“What?” It kissed him again, just the way he liked best.

“You like being kissed after.” One arm slipped around his neck. “You like being held.”

“You can’t –” It kissed him again. “How do you know that?”

It made a contented sound, face pressed against his neck. He felt its lips brush his ear, sucking on the lobe briefly, and the sensation made him gasp – he’d never told anyone about that before. His stomach lurched. “You looked like the type.” It ran one hand through his hair, and Arthur surrendered, clinging to it, wrapping his arms around the impossible, inhuman creature in his arms and holding on tight.

* * *

 

**61**

Everything hurt. The blow had come at the height of the battle. A beast, unlike any he’d seen before, had lifted its paw and swatted him. He’d been tossed in the air. After that it was a blur of blood-soaked chainmail and the thunderous pounding of the earth as Morgana’s beasts surrounded Camelot’s forces. He remembered staring up at the smoke-filled sky and then... _flying_.

Arthur blinked awake, panicked.

Blue eyes, bright and playful as a water sprite, looked back at him. “Hello.”

Arthur tried to sit up but inhaled sharply at the slice of pain burning across his side.

“The battle’s lost.” The man’s voice was hoarse and deep, as if his throat were unaccustomed to the task. “But not the war.”

Arthur remembered the bodies scattering the field as he’d risen from the earth; nothing could save his men now. “What are you?” Arthur looked around and all he could see was swaying tree tops. “How did you--”

There was a rustle behind the stranger and a pair of wings, stunningly white and larger than those of any bird Arthur’d ever seen, suddenly appeared. The man -- the _creature_ \-- bowed his head, as though he were ashamed. 

Arthur stared at the creature in front of him. His scarred, pale chest had a spattering of dark hair to match the shaggy mess upon his head. His torn, loose breeches hung from his frame like they didn’t belong. In juxtaposition to this wild man, the spread of his wings displayed delicate, pristine white feathers.

Arthur reached for them and they fluttered beneath his touch, the downy feathers softer than any silk.

The creature shivered, his skin blooming in a pink flush as he arched his neck. There was a strangled sound from the creature’s throat. “They’re very sensitive.”

Arthur snatched his hand back.

“You didn’t hurt me.” He looked at Arthur, his eyes dark and hooded, and Arthur understood.

Golden strings danced from the creature’s fingers, winding their way beneath Arthur’s armour. The heat of the tendrils made him gasp. It pulled at his skin, healing the wound, chasing the pain away and leaving only relief and a prickle of hot pleasure. Arthur felt himself grow hard at the touch of this creature’s magic.

The wings spread wider, high above their heads, blocking the sun. The air left Arthur’s lungs at the display, powerful and erotic, as the man loomed over him. He couldn’t resist touching them again, letting the softness slip through his fingers, watching the creature’s sweet face go slack at the slightest touch.

Arthur stroked his dirt-streaked cheek. “You’re a strange creature,” he said. Arthur had never in all his studies heard of anything so wondrous as a feral man with the wings of a bird.

The creature blushed, turned away. Arthur took the creature's chin so their eyes could meet again.

Something twisted around Arthur’s heart at the gentleness he saw there. He smiled at the creature and said, “Beautiful.”

The creature’s face lit like a wine-soaked cloth pressed to a flame and with it a pulse of magic flowed through Arthur, a shocking wave of pleasure. He drew ragged breaths at the intensity of it.

The winged man hovered over him, covering Arthur’s body with his own and Arthur could feel the hard line of the creature’s arousal against his leg. Unable to stop the dizzying effect of the magic and the thrill at the primal need in the creature’s eyes, Arthur rocked upwards. He groaned; frustrated by the layers between them.

“Is this what you feel?” Arthur asked, reaching up to trace his fingers along the point where the creature’s wings became human-like shoulder blades. Another wave of magic crashed against Arthur’s skin, leaving him prickly with heat, gasping.

“Yes,” the man said, desperate, frantic. He rutted against Arthur’s leg, his expression pained as though he’d lost all control.

Arthur’s hands explored everywhere he could reach, making the man thrash, his wings fluttering around them. Each touch had the sensation rebounding until they were arching into each other with their release and the nest shimmered with magic. 

“Rest now,” the creature said, his voice broken with the last shudderings of his pleasure. “Tomorrow I’ll take you back. I’m told you will bring peace to Albion, and I’ll be there to protect you, always.”

A roar echoed above; a beast circled, searching for Camelot’s king. The man smiled, his eyes dancing as white wings spread to cover the nest from sight.

“Always.”

* * *

 

**62**

“How does one buy presents for someone who has everything?”

Morgana had looked at him with a strange smile.

“By getting them something they couldn’t bear to get for themselves, of course.”

Of course, of course. She had always had a slightly cruel streak even when they were children.

He sat on the floor, staring at the cool flesh wrapped in plastic. His hands were shaking. He thought he had gotten over the worst of the grief, but in a rush it all came back - the sheer, stabbing pain, the gaping hole of _knowing_.

They say time heals all wounds. But it never goes away, not really.

**

“You can do this,” he says as he unwraps the plastic from the still body.

Every inch is like a revelation; a discovery made anew by memories worn away by the years.

It’s terrifying to realize how weak the human mind is.

He can’t help but run his hands over that beloved face; the long lashes, the straight nose, the full lips. They had even managed to give him stubble. Merlin was never very good at shaving.

Angrily, he scrubs at the tears pricking at his eyes. He decides there and then that the best way to do this is all at once, like pulling off a plaster. It’s surprisingly easy once he puts his mind to it.

Merlin looks like he’s asleep in the box he came in.

He realizes with a jolt that he’s just referred to this facsimile, this _imitation_ , as Merlin. It’s with a sharp spike of anger at Morgana’s meddling that he fumbles for the manual and finally starts the Synthetic up.

**

It flutters its eyelashes once or twice, and then its bright blue eyes open and focus on him.

“Arthur,” it says, smiling familiarly.

It shocks him to hear that voice call his name again.

**

They develop a routine. The Synth helps him with the chores and is free to spend the rest of its time however it wishes to. Once or twice, it had tried to start a conversation, only to be shut down by Arthur’s curt replies. He doesn’t wonder about the hurt look in its eyes that is so like Merlin’s.

**

It’s half a year before Arthur gives in.

They’re rutting now, desperate and fast, like Mer- the Synth is craving for it as much as he is. It’s probably programmed, but he doesn’t care. He’s gone without touch for so long and the skin slickly sliding against his feels so good.

“Arthur, Arthur,” it cries out, grinding its hips against his. “I…”

He shushes him – it, and leans to capture its lips with his. They’re… warm. It’s like re-discovering a long-lost instinct, and he sucks at his tongue, marveling at the texture, the taste, so like Merlin’s.

The Synth – he – moans and grips the hair at his neck, angling his head for better access.

They pull off their clothes in a hurry, buttons popping. Merlin’s skin is flushed becomingly, and Arthur takes a moment to stare at the whorls of hair on his lean chest, fascinated. He drags a fingernail down his nipple, causing Merlin to let out a high keening sound. He’s breathing fast now, mouth slightly open, eyes glassy, looking at Arthur.

Something breaks in him, and now he can’t stop the tears from falling. He misses this so much. With shaky fingers, he slicks himself with lube and prepares Merlin.

Merlin flips them over and it seems like he’s staring straight into his soul. Then slowly and gingerly, he positions himself and slides down on Arthur’s cock.

It’s warm and snug, and the sweat makes things slippery between them. Merlin keeps trying to say something but stops himself halfway, as if he’s not sure how to phrase the words. Arthur’s weeping openly, trying to stop, but it’s as if all the tears he didn’t allow himself to shed are finally gushing out, its dam broken.

“In the car… before, before I, before _he_ died,” Merlin stutters out, and Arthur jerks, feeling as if his heart as stopped.

“…he was sorry and that he loved you.”

He’s sobbing now, breaths coming in broken, hiccupped gasps. He doesn’t understand why or _how_ this android knows, but it’s what he’s wanted to hear all these years, underneath the regret.

With one last thrust, they come together, messily. The rest can wait, he thinks.

* * *

 

**63**

_**Warnings:** sex slaves! dubious consent! Uther taking advantage!_

 

Some call them harmless. Some call them demons, twisted, unnatural.

Uther calls them convenient, and pays a small purse to anyone who can catch one and bring it to his keep.

He likes the way they look, elegant and soft. Feline. Their ears, rather than the usual human shells, are folded and furred, perched on the tops of their heads in the manner of cats. They have long sinuous tails, which for men can sometimes be seen twitching down a trouser leg, and on women are always hidden under skirts, sometimes peeking out from below. Their fur comes in all the natural colors, and they are universally highly responsive to touch.

"They make for more pleasant servants, I find," Uther tells Olaf, whose daughter is fascinated by the dappled, dark ears of Arthur's serving boy. She pulls him down by his red servant's collar when he approaches with the wine, running her fingers along the sensitive place where the ears join to his skull. The boy gasps, his eyes closing, wine spilling everywhere. Arthur glares at them both.

Beside Uther, Olaf raises his eyebrows. "It seems they cause a bit of a mess."

"They can't help themselves," Uther says, chuckling. "They're slaves to their senses. They need outside sensual contact, outside control. Servitude comes naturally to them, I find."

Other things come naturally to them as well.

"Yes," Uther says, crouching next to the serving boy as he scrubs the floor in Arthur's chambers. The motion of his hand with the scrub brush doesn't pause as Uther slides a gloved palm along his back, but the boy's ears twitch, pressing back against his skull. Uther smiles and ventures further, scratching at the base of the lump that is the boy's tail. The boy gasps and his rump jerks up, instinctive.

"Father," Arthur protests. He has always been protective of the boy. Uther should never have gifted away such a beautiful specimen, he thinks, looking at the pale line of the boy's bowed neck. He wants to drag the creature's trousers down right here and bury his fingers in the boy's arse, so nicely presented to him. He wants the boy for his own.

Instead Uther nods to his son, and stands. Leaves, for now.

He slakes his lust later, in the hall where he keeps his collections. Uther loves the way they respond to his presence—girls roll onto their backs when he approaches, breasts and bellies exposed, and boys spread their legs. He rubs their heads, soothing them as he passes by. In his younger days he would indulge them, spend himself in one or two, but he has a very specific desire tonight.

She rules them, clad in nothing but a black leather band around her throat. The band is adorned with a tiny silver bell. He had given it to her in her youth, when her ears had just started to change, before locking her safely away in here. She was his, and would always be.

"My lord," Morgana says, eyes slanted and sharp, but he doesn't wait for her to kneel—he forces her to her belly, one hand in her hair. She goes limp when he caresses her, moans and raises her arse when Uther rubs a thumb against the base of her tail. The tail lifts, exposing her pink arsehole and ripe, wet cunt. He spreads her, listens to her mewling noises, and buries himself inside.

These creatures were made for sex, Uther always thinks, whenever he has one in his embrace. Morgana rolls against him, her inner walls spasming and clenching around his cock as if his very presence is too much, but he does not stop and she does not want him to. He imagines the dark-haired serving boy—imagines that he can fuck the both of them at once, their cries filling the chamber, dark tails thrashing everywhere—and comes.

Morgana shudders as his gloved palms drag along her skin, smoothing away sweat. He brushes her collar with the movement, the bell jingling minutely.

"I will have company for you soon," he says, and she hums.

The first thing Uther does once he leaves the chamber is to call for the craftsmen. He needs a new black leather collar, and a little silver bell.

* * *

 

**64**

The house creaks with the steady sound of his father working down in the basement. Noises that draw Merlin to hover by the door, ear pressed against the wood. His mother finds him a while later and carts him off to bed.

“What’s daddy doing?” Merlin asks. She tucks the blankets under his chin and presses a kiss to his temple. “Making magic,” she replies.

\--

The first time Merlin sees it, sees him, it feels like his lungs have been rid of air. The creature on the table - it’s human, or at least it looks human. A man made of scraps, of flesh and bone and heat. Merlin can feel it, a warmth that tickles the pad of his fingertips as they brush the length of the creature’s arm. Skin pale and soft but pieced together like patchwork. Merlin wonders what colour his father has chosen to hide beneath those lashes. 

He’s old enough now to know what this is, what his father has been working on for most of his fifteen years. He traces the hollow of the creature’s cheek. Misses the jolt of electricity that sparks between them, misses the flicker of a finger as it twitches against the table.

\--

Every morning, in the hours just before dawn, Merlin creeps down to the basement. He pulls back the sheet to uncover it's face, his beauty becoming more striking as the months pass, bleeding into years. His father has worked hard on him. Yet still there is a pang of sadness as Merlin allows his eyes to flash gold and the creature he's come to call Arthur gasps to life.

"Hi," Merlin whispers, runs his fingers across Arthur's forehead. He'd discovered on his second visit that his touch was a charge of some kind, a hub of life-force that turned Arthur from a monster into a man.

 

Arthur moans, hand reaching up to clutch his head. His palm is heavy as it lands atop Merlin's. 

Two years he's spent with Arthur, talking to him, teaching him. He's no longer a creation at the hands of a mad scientist, but something more. 

Arthur starts to learn. When it comes for Merlin to leave, his cries of protest grow louder. He clutches Merlin's shirt, babbles broken bits of English that resemble "stay" and "don't leave me." Merlin thinks he hears Arthur whisper "I need you" once and it becomes harder to walk away. To not utter promises back he knows he can never keep. But he wants it, damn it all, Merlin needs it just as much as Arthur craves it and then they're kissing. 

Merlin presses Arthur down upon the table. His body is just as supple as Merlin's own, rubs in all the right places. It's easy to forget that Arthur wasn't born like every other, he's unique and other-worldly in each way except this. Here he moves like any man, hips stuttering and moans rolling off his tongue in pleasure.

Arthur's nails claw into Merlin's side, his naked body writhing in desperation beneath him. Arthur's skin has never felt more alive. 

There are plenty of reasons not to but none listened to as Merlin swings his leg over Arthur's hip and rocks their groins together. Arthur's hard - and who knew that was possible but Merlin is drawn to him just as he was that night as a child, as he no doubt always will be. 

He wraps an unsteady hand around the base of Arthur's cock. Laughs as Arthur groans and tilts his head back. 'This is mad' he thinks but doesn't stop. Instead he moves faster, slicks his palm with his tongue and sets a gruelling pace that leaves Arthur bucking off the table. 

The force of his orgasm hits them both with shock. Merlin hasn't even touched himself, just rutted into the groove of Arthur's hip. Arthur doesn't follow him through. He spasms and cries but doesn't spend himself. 

"Merlin?" he asks. And that's the first time Arthur has managed to utter his name. Merlin knows he's doomed forever, but at this moment no monsters in the land could keep him away. 

* * *

 

**65**

and I am almost afraid to believe it

It starts with a dream, as these things do. He woke up, panting, shuddering with the last of his pleasure, his sleep trousers a mess. He couldn’t remember the face of his dreamtime partner, only the vaguest memory of a deep chuckle as he arched into a masculine hand remained.  
###

“Who’s there?” Arthur says demandingly as his bed curtains twitch. He draws his sword and walks slowly towards his bed, ears straining for any sound.

He rips the curtains open, heart pounding. He stops short when he realises there’s no one there. _Wind_ , he thinks, even though he knows his window is shut.

###

“Arthur.” Arthur jumps, swirling around. He sees no one but it wasn’t his imagination, he knows he heard his name.

“Who’s there? Show yourself at once!”

There was a cool brush to his arm, and then a shimmer appeared before him. It was something like the trick of the light over the road on a hot day. A rippling, in the shape of a man.

“Hello Arthur.”

“What are you?”

“I am Merlin.”

###

Arthur goes hunting, to clear his head. Maybe he’s sickening for something, and the visions are a manifestation of his illness?

He spends a week driving his men hard, coming back with deer, boar, and fowl. Merlin hasn’t shown himself once. He heads back to his room, the excitement of the hunt still hot in his veins.

He starts to strip and feels a cool draft. He turns, wondering if the window is open, and freezes.

“Merlin.”

“You didn’t think I was real, did you?”

“I considered it.”

Merlin glides closer, and Arthur shudders as Merlin touches him.

“I am very real.” Merlin whispers, and the cool touch moves down into Arthur’s trousers. “Let me show you.”

###

Merlin reappears often, mostly at night. Arthur doesn’t mention it – him – it, to anyone.

###

Arthur grits his teeth as many eligible daughters are paraded in front of him. Their simpering makes him clench his hands behind his back.

He wonders where his ghost (for that’s what he is, Arthur can admit, in the privacy of his head) is now? Is he watching from the corner, sulking as Arthur kisses the hand of another potential suit?

One lady catches his eye. Her dark eyes are knowing, as if she hates this ceremony as much as he. He nods at her and asks her to dance with him. They twirl around and Arthur is shocked by how warm her skin is.

###

His room is a mess when he returns, the curtains blow out of the window, and his bedsheets in disarray. He swallows hard, rage warring with nerves. He’s never seen Merlin react so badly to anything before.

That night is brutal. Merlin’s cold touch is everywhere – Arthur’s skin breaks out in trails of gooseflesh - and by the time he is finally entered he’s shuddering and begging for something, anything.

Merlin moves inside him roughly, pain and pleasure mingling. Arthur bites down on his fist as he spills himself so as not to make a noise.

“Mine, you are mine.”

###

It is customary for Arthur to set a place for Merlin when he takes his meals in his room. Some nights he sits alone, eyes barely moving off the laden plate set opposite him, looking for any sign of movement. Those nights he ends up taking the food to the stable boys, sharing it out between them, soaking up the gratitude in their small faces.

He spends jumping every time the wind twitches his curtains, every creak of wood settling. His heart pounds. He spends more time in his room, complaining of a sickness, hoping to feel a cool touch against his cheek

Merlin always returns, Arthur will wake just before sunrise to feel Merlin curled around him, murmuring in his ear.

“I thought you had gone.”

“I’ll never leave you.” Merlin says. 

* * *

 

**66**

When Arthur opens the door, he lets out an undignified yelp. More than a millennia of good graces have started to crumble around his ears ever since Merlin insisted on turning their place into a bloody zoo. Freya used to be the best of the lot before EMC-04 became _Gwaine_. “Not on the sofa!” he shouts, presses that hint of command behind it, shutting his eyes against the dangly bits all over the exquisite sofa Lota that Eileen Gray had gifted to him herself.

He stalks into the study where Merlin’s giving Leon the wide, appreciative eyes.

“Puberty was a nightmare,” Leon says, laughing. Couldn’t retain the same shape two days in a row. But it gets easier when your base body stabilises. You have your pack to guide you. We could try meditation, maybe yoga?”

Arthur has heard enough. “ _Mer_ lin.”

Leon looks up and smiles his good blokey smile that Arthur no longer trusts. “I should go, it’s getting late.”

Merlin’s absently scribbling notes, utterly useless at picking up on dark moods, and Arthur sighs. “Was he any help then?”

Merlin visibly deflates. “He’s so knowledgeable, but he _wants_ to change, says there’s an itch for it. It was a longshot. I just thought, he’s a shapeshifter, isn’t he? Can turn into all sorts of things.”

“Sentient things,” Arthur mutters, and Merlin looks betrayed.

“I didn’t mean that. I take it hard when you leave. I want you to myself; you’re connected to so much of everything.” The whole house is pathetic when Merlin’s gone, curls up under his stiff limbs. Arthur always has to fight the urge not to rip something bloody. Sometimes it’s mere hours, but it can stretch to something unbearable. The ghost of the entire fourteenth century still weighs on him heavily (also literally as he made Sophia, Vivian, Elena, and Mithian back then all in a row). “Get any good notes?” he asks while sliding into the chair, rearranging Merlin on his lap.

Merlin works haphazardly on a bestiary, makes notes of everyone they meet, or collect, it feels like these days. It sprouted from the desperation to find others like him, a son of the last dragonlord and a dryad. He’s immortal, magic, speaks to dragons that don’t exist in this time. He becomes pieces of earth, transformations he has no control over. He is utterly, completely bizarre.

Merlin’s notebook is a mess of words Arthur can make out only brief snatches of: _werewolves can make good familiars_ (Mordred), _ghosts can make tea but not drink it_ (Lance), _robots are more influenced by programmes than children_ (Gwaine), _vampires are strangely fussy about interior design_ (no comment), etc.

Arthur keeps his own little notes on Merlin in his head: _big-eared, a tree mostly, harbours fugitives_...

A worrisome thought hits. “You didn’t invite Leon to live with us, did you?”

“He has his pack,” Merlin says, wistful.

“And we have ours,” is the firm reply. “And not an unlimited amount of space.”

“It’s bloody well palatial here!”

“It’s--” stifling, he doesn’t say. “--cosy. I already have to share you with filthy dogs and _Gwaine_. And Gwen’s a lovely girl, but do you know how distracting it is to have a walking blood bank around? I miss us.”

“Show me how much,” Merlin murmurs and pulls him down by his tie, tugs it loose, groaning at the feel of silk sliding between his fingers.

Merlin licks his own palm and unzips Arthur’s trousers, finds him already wet at the tip and spreads that slickness down before tightening his grip and jerking him off slowly. His palm is too dry and every slide brings a sharpness to the pleasure.

He brushes kisses against Arthur’s lips, their mouths moving against each other, soft and slick. Merlin’s mouth moves lower, traces the long column of his throat, sucks hard at the lines of his tendons, the place where a pulse would beat at his neck.

He’s rutting against Arthur’s thigh while his fist moves faster, and his other hand curls against the curve of Arthur’s hip, thumb rubbing a groove against the hipbone.

Oddly it’s that tiny circular motion that tips him over, the fact that he feels Merlin _everywhere_ , always, and he comes in hot jerks all over Merlin’s fingers. Merlin follows him and the look on his face, sweet and adoring, reaches somewhere deep inside Arthur and nearly massages his heart back to beating.

* * *

 

**67**

 

_**Warnings:** Dubious consent, implied underage_

Forlorn

“Arthur, Arthur are you paying attention?” his father’s voice pulled his attention away from the window he had been starting out of.

“Yes – Yes Sir.” Arthur tried to focus on where his father sat behind his desk. His suit was well cut and expensive, the dark wood shone and not a hint of dust could be seen. The maids did well to keep Uther Pendragon’s office immaculate.

“You must pay attention, if you are ever to take over there are things you need to know.” His father’s voice contained its usual mixture of disappointment and reserve.

“Sorry, I understand sir –“

“Oh lay off him Uther,” his step sister Morgana swept in. She squeezed Arthur’s arm as she past and he was grateful for her support, he was grateful for her. Arthur hadn’t known her mother was going to divorce his father till nearly a year after her death. Because they had still been married when she had died Morgana had stayed and while they didn’t always get along she was an ally against his father that he strongly needed.

“It’s a beautiful day outside, how do you expect him to focus on anything is a mystery to me.” Her smile was playful, and where with anyone else Uther would have put them in their place he just gave her a smile back.

“Of course,” he dismissed Arthur “We’ll talk later Arthur, I’m sure you must have some mate’s you would like to see. Morgana, it’s a pleasure to see you, I didn’t expect you to return for another week.” Giving Morgana a grateful smile Arthur escaped his father’s office and headed for his room. He didn’t really have that many mates. Sure there were boys at school, but he had stopped spending time with anyone after Mordred had drowned in the lake by his house. He had only been teasing Arthur. It had been an accident.

He shed his jacket as he entered, closing and locking the door behind him. Taking a deep breath he started undoing the buttons at his collar, toeing off his trainers.

“You weren’t here.” a coolness slid along his neck, a voice whispering in his ear and the door to his closet was wide open. It always locked dark in there.

“I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes letting chilled fingers slid the shirt off his arms “I didn’t mean to be gone that long.” A finger flicked across his nipple and Arthur shivered.

“That’s okay,” Arthur let himself be pulled towards the closet, the darkness flowing over him. It was familiar, it was like coming home. The darkness in the corner of his closet had whispered to him since he had been moved from the nursery. He had never been scared. “I just missed you is all, it gets lonely in here.”

“I know, I’m still sorry.” He undid his belt, unthreading it and with shaking fingers undoing the button in his trousers. He had never felt lonely, he hated that _he_ had had to have been so alone before Arthur came along.

The closet was growing warm, it always did when it was just them. Arthur slipped off his trousers, standing bare in the small room and leaned against the wall. The warmth turned hot as a hard arm snaked across his midsection, pulling him back against _him_. could feel the heat the surrounded him as a hand slid down his side and curved along his arse, spreading him.

There was a pressure against his pucker, unrelenting and burning but Arthur had learned to grit his teeth and take the pain. It was worth it, to chase away the chill and beat back the loneliness. He needed _him_ , he needed him this close.

“Stay with me,” the voice was ragged, “please stay with me.”

“I will,” Arthur promised and he burned, his body strained and filled. It was hot and he couldn’t stop shivered but he had never felt so cherished. He would do anything he could to stay with him. No matter what happened, they would never be lonely.

Arthur had never feared the monster in his closet. 

* * *

 

**68**

_**Warnings:** fusion with Supernatural, blasphemy(?)_

These things Arthur Pendragon knows: He had one job that mattered and he failed in it. He failed the promise he made to his father, to protect Morgana. He had died and gone to hell for her, but it hadn't been enough because he had left her alone, and hadn't that been the job? To stay with her, to keep her safe and to never look back. Now Morgana is lost. Arthur is not cut out to deal with this alone. To deal with anything alone, really, so he will continue to try and save her. Even if it's too late, until she's back with him or until it kills him finally for the last time.

"There are no such things as angels," he says to the strange creature before him. It looks like a human but it's crackling with power that Arthur can sense, can almost touch with his fingertips. But it isn't a demon, he can't smell any sulfur. Instead, he smells ozone and the powdery smell of feathers.

"I am an angel of the lord," the creature says and stares at Arthur with it's blue eyes. The gaze is clear and unwavering, and so blue that Arthur gets lost in it, a little. The eyes are always the thing that betrays the supernatural. But where demons have inky black eyes that are like staring into the abyss, this creature's eyes flash golden, like the halos Arthur imagined on angels when he was a child.

The lights flicker overhead and Arthur can feel static electricity dancing on his skin.

"I am the one who raised you from the pit and put you back together," the creature says and smiles. "I am here because you are needed once more."

"Hold on," Arthur says. "Needed? For what?"

"To save the world," the angel says.

*

The angel's name is Emrys, but after the thing with the sword, Arthur starts calling him Merlin. He doesn't seem to mind.

*

The motel room Arthur is staying in is small and dingy, the darkness spreading from the corners where the light of the weak lamps can't reach. He grabs a beer from the fridge and wonders if he should call Gaius when the lights flicker and Merlin says:

"There is no such thing as a guardian angel."

"Yeah, I've had that figured out since I was five," Arthur says and wills his heart to quiet down. "Would you stop trying to scare me to death every time you decide to stop by?"

"There is no angel on everyone's shoulder, protecting them," Merlin continues, ignoring Arthur. "I keep coming across this particular belief all the time in my dealings with humans and it confuses me. Why, despite all the evidence in the contrary, you still choose to believe that?"

"I don't know," Arthur says and shrugs, turning to put his beer on the counter. "My mum used to tell me that when I was a child. _There is an angel watching over you, Arthur_ , she would say. It's just a nice lie to make you feel safe, I think."

"She was right," Merlin says.

Arthur snorts. "You just said..."

Merlin cuts him off. "You are special. You have always been special. You die and you are resurrected or reborn, always, for one purpose. You are the saviour, the one that saves the world and I am always here, watching over you. That is my job."

"No offence, but you haven't been doing a very good job of it," Arthur says, because there's something coiling in the pit of his stomach and he has to ignore it before it takes shape and becomes trust and belief and all the things that never bring anything good with them.

"Angels are soldiers," Merlin says and Arthur can swear he sees him rolling his eyes. "I am not your babysitter, I am your backup."

*

Kissing an angel, Arthur finds out, feels a lot like licking a battery. There is the sizzling power on his tongue and the feeling of doing something you know you aren't supposed to do. He lets Merlin push him against a wall and grab at his clothes. Arthur kisses him back and gasps when Merlin pushes a thigh between his legs and presses even closer. This is an angel, Arthur thinks. What can he save when he has failed even in this?

"You are worth it," Merlin mutters into his mouth. Then he pauses, breathing hot air on Arthur's neck. "It's funny," he says. "To love is not like falling at all."

* * *

 

**69**

Arthur reached the beach half an hour early. He couldn’t stand it at home with Morgana smirking at his fidgeting anymore. He was nervous, yes, but it had taken three months to talk Merlin into even touching Arthur with this lower appendages. He wasn’t going to back out now.

Fourty-five minutes later there was a splashing sound in the distance. Arthur jumped up from the rock he’d perched on when a dark blue tentacle raised out of the water and waved lazily at him. “You’re late!” he called, grinning anyway.

Merlin’s head popped out of the water. “Not _that_ late,” he countered. “Besides, it wasn’t my fault, Gwaine got a starfish stuck in his hair. I couldn’t just leave him!”

“Ah, Merlin, always willing to help a mermaid in need.”

“Mer _man_ ,” Merlin corrected. “You’re just jealous.”

“Who, me?” Arthur shed his shirt and waded into the water. “Of course I am. He gets to spend more time with you than I do.”

Merlin reached out his arms once Arthur got close enough to pull him forward. “Well, it helps that he can breathe underwater,” he admitted. “But he’s not you.”

Arthur was distracted from answering when he felt one of Merlin’s tentacles hesitantly wrap around his waist. Even under the water it was smooth and soft against his skin, and Arthur couldn’t help but gasp.

Merlin blushed. “We don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly.

“I want to!” Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s neck. “Come on,” he murmured, putting his lips on Merlin’s ear just to feel him shiver. “You promised.”

Merlin still looked skeptical, but another two tentacles came up, one wrapping around Arthur’s leg and the other stroking Arthur’s lower back, just above his shorts. “Oh…” Arthur let out a breath. “That feels so good.”

Merlin snorted. “Are you going to talk through this?”

“Unless you stop me.” Arthur gave Merlin a sly look from under his eyelashes and was rewarded by yet another tentacle slipping up into his mouth. It tasted like Merlin and the sea, and Arthur sucked it into his mouth to a moan of approval from Merlin.

Merlin leaned forward and started scattering kisses over Arthur’s neck and chest. Two more tentacles (and Christ, Arthur thought with a sudden shot of panic and excitement, he’d never asked how many of them Merlin had) reached up and removed Arthur’s shorts. The touches took on a whole new level of intensity then, especially when one of the tentacles slipped around Arthur’s waist again and wrapped itself around his prick.

Arthur gave a deep moan as the tentacle gave a squeeze and started writhing. Arthur threw his head back. “Mmmllnn,” he moaned out.

Merlin smirked. “I know, Arthur, I’m getting there.”

Even as he said it, one of the tentacles from behind Arthur slipped up and lightly swiped at his hole. Arthur’s hips bucked, but the tentacle around his waist and Merlin’s hands, which had come to rest on Arthur’s arms, held him firmly in place. Arthur felt a thrill at not being able to move as the tentacle behind him continued its ministrations and the others kept stroking over him, their silken touches sensitizing him more by the second.

Finally, just when Arthur was about to spit out the tentacle in his mouth and beg for it, Merlin decided to take pity on him and the tentacle pushed inside of him, just the tiniest bit. It felt like a tongue, really, and the tiny undulating motions it was making forced a noise out of Arthur he would never admit to sounding like a scream. The time for teasing was over, and Merlin pushed the tentacle further into Arthur.

Arthur rolled his hips down towards it. The feel of Merlin’s tentacle inside him was _brilliant_. It filled him up in all the right places, forming to his insides perfectly. Arthur felt himself rushing to orgasm as it twisted and pumped inside of him, pressing on all the right spots.

The tentacle slipped out of his mouth, and Arthur let out a keening sound of loss before it was replaced by Merlin’s own damp lips. “God,” Merlin whispered, “look at you, all wrapped up in me. I was wrong, this was a _great_ idea.”

And at that, the reminder that the source of all of this pleasure was actually his Merlin, Arthur dived in for another kiss as he came into the sea.

 

**70**

“What were you thinking?” Merlin yells.

“What were you thinking?” Arthur yells back.

“You would have been dead if I didn’t say Uther about your plans.”

“I fight my own battles.”

“There were hundreds of them, hungry for your blood.”

“Together we’d won, brother.”

“I am not your brother,” Merlin shouts.

Silence that follows is deafening, both of them staring at each other, both of them remembering the words of the Dragonlord king.

”I know your magic signature. I believed I’d never feel it again. You are my son.”

“Impossible,” Merlin said, turning to Uther for assurance.

“Is it?” Balinor said, staring at the High king defiantly.

“He speaks the truth,” Uther said.

“Brother,” Arthur starts.

Merlin waves his staff, letting out a fierce cry. His magic pins Arthur to the wall and Merlin is upon him a second later.

“Don’t call me that,” he snarls and presses his mouth to Arthur’s.

Arthur lets out a startled gasp and Merlin plunges his tongue in, decides to explore as much as he can. He grinds against Arthur’s thigh.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he whispers into Arthur’s ear and starts sucking a bruise into the skin of Arthur’s neck.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathes out, his muscles flexing as he tries to fight off the restraints.

“For centuries I believed my thoughts about you were sinful. For centuries I’ve been holding myself back,” Merlin murmurs into Arthur’s ear, his hips moving on instinct.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps again, a tone of desperation hidden in his voice.

Merlin drops his head on Arthur’s shoulder and wills himself to still, breathing hard into Arthur’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says and backs away, his head hanging low.

He lets go of his magic with a wave of his hand.

“You idiot,” Arthur roars and shoves Merlin with enough force to send him flying.

Merlin lands on the stairs leading to the throne, short pained cry escaping him as the sharp edges bear into his back.

Arthur’s arms are around him before he can move.

“You are not alone in this,” Arthur says and crushes their lips together. “You’ve been driving me crazy for ages,” he growls and presses Merlin’s palm against his groin.

“Take me,” Merlin says, rubbing Arthur through the two layers of clothes.

“Yes,” Arthur hisses into Merlin’s ear and shifts away to help Merlin to his feet.

Merlin stops him, grabs him by the waist and pulls him right in between his splayed legs.

“Here,” he says and throws his head back as Arthur leans down to lick and suck at his throat.

“Too much clothing,” Arthur grumbles as he tries to get rid of the fabric that stops him from further explorations.

Merlin’s eyes flash gold and their clothes vanish into thin air.

Tanned skin meets milky-white, delicious friction of their cocks touching for the first time makes them pant into each other’s mouth with need.

“I’m ready,” Merlin whispers, gold constantly swirling in his eyes.

Arthur’s eyes widen.

“I said I’m ready,” Merlin growls and wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist.

Arthur doesn’t waste any more time and presses in.

“Yes,” Merlin moans, clawing at Arthur’s shoulders.

“So tight,” Arthur grunts, moving inside Merlin’s impossible heat with sharp thrusts.

“Harder, Arthur. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Merlin’s litany ends with a loud whine as Arthur hits the right spot.

From there it isn’t a long journey to completion, Merlin’s come landing all over their naked stomachs as Arthur fucks him through the aftershocks. He fills him with his seed, moaning Merlin’s name over and over.

~x~

“You could have told them earlier,” Ygraine says to her husband, turning away from the image of their sons still curled on the stairs.

“They’d never accept an arranged marriage and it would take longer for them to find their way to one another,” Uther replies, pleased smile on his lips.

“You planned this, all of it,” Ygraine states, not very surprised.

“For the good of the realms,” Uther says.

“And our sons,” she adds, seeing right through Uther’s facade.

She presses herself to Uther’s front, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“How about to give the boys a sibling?” she asks.


	4. Group A (without warnings)

**01**

Merlin heaved a sigh, his wings fluttering and shifting. When the higher-ups had decided to give him his first assignment he’d expected it to be a lot more _exciting_. But so far the only interesting thing he’d had to do so far was stop a bowl from smashing in the blond prat’s head.

He rolled his eyes in annoyance. And not only was it a boring job, but now it was also a full-time job. Sure Merlin didn’t really need the sleep—Guardian Angel and all that—but it still got under his skin that he’d have to spend every single moment watching over Arthur.

 _Then again_ , Merlin mused as he watched Arthur groan and flip onto his side, dragging the sheet with him and exposing his bare chest and a hint of naked hip. _Night watch duty isn’t so bad if I get to see that every night._

In the dark Merlin could see the glint of moonlight reflecting off of Arthur’s eyes. The poor bloke had been having a hard time getting to sleep the past few days. If Merlin didn’t know better he’d say all Arthur needed was a shag. But he’d been around to witness that _that_ was certainly not the case. Arthur Pendragon got more tail than Merlin’s sister did. And Morgana was a fucking succubus! Puzzle that one out.

This time it was Arthur who let out a sigh, pushing away his sheets and sitting up. He scrubbed a hand over his face. Merlin’s lips pursed, wondering if it was to be the telly or the treadmill tonight. Treadmill was the more dangerous; then he’d actually have to _watch_ him to make sure the clod wouldn’t brain himself or break a toe or something.

Turned out, it was neither. Tonight Arthur headed straight for the bathroom and into the shower. Merlin let out a groan. He’d even take the stupid exercise machine over this. At least then Arthur would have some clothing on. But no, shower it was, and Arthur—glorious naked Arthur—stepped into the warm spray and immediately went to rubbing suds over himself. Merlin slowly squeezed himself through the small doorway, trying to fold his wings in as close as they could, but the cumbersome things liked to be difficult on the best day. Finally Merlin stumbled into the steamy room and with a huff settled himself on the counter. Then he made the mistake of looking at Arthur.

Arthur had finished his actual washing and had moved on to _other_ pursuits. Merlin twitched as he saw Arthur’s big hand sliding up and down his quickly hardening dick. Arthur breathed out, body already relaxing as he kept a steady pace. Up and down and up and a twist over the head. Merlin was hypnotized. Strictly speaking a Guardian’s job was to protect and watch over, but give space for certain… activities. Then again, Merlin had always been pants at following rules.

Merlin licked his lips and hopped down from the counter. He stepped up to the shower and pressed one hand to the glass door, eyes fixed on Arthur’s hand stroking up and down. Arthur was breathing heavily, almost panting. Merlin could feel his heart rate picking up. His other hand inched toward the bulge in his trousers. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Guardians couldn’t feel like this for their wards. And yet…

And yet Merlin’s cock was still standing at attention and throbbing with every stroke of Arthur’s hand. Merlin moaned, hand finally coming to rest over the bulge. His wings twitched and tensed, wanting to be touched. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had touched his wings.

Merlin slipped a hand into his trousers, cupping his hot flesh in his hand, sliding his fingers across the wet head. He moaned just as Arthur gasped out. Merlin focused on Arthur again. Arthur’s hips were jerking forward, fucking into his hand. It didn’t take long before he let out a loud groan and his come was spurting out onto the tile. And, with keening sound in his throat, that was all it took to have Merlin creaming his pants.

Merlin’s head fell forward to rest on the glass as he breathed heavily. It was only when there was a strangled noise that his head jerked up to find bright blue eyes staring right at him. His own eyes widened. In the next moment his wings folded around his body and he disappeared from Arthur’s sight.

* * *

**02**

She comes to him in reflective surfaces: halts him just past a looking glass, not sure if he really saw what he thought; beckons from rainwater pooled under a hang-dog sky; lifts her eyebrow in the curved turn of a tankard under the tavern candle’s quivering light.

Merlin thought he was imagining it, that the girl he saw in the lower town who borrowed the shape of her smile had dredged grief from its usual pocket, but when he gets to his room, in a bowl of water Gaius must have left for him, the flat black gives up her slow grin.

“Merlin,” she says, voice a liquid ripple down his spine. “I’ve missed you.”

Heart rattling as if she’s an army and not a shimmer of a girl, Merlin kneels and touches the basin’s edge. “Freya? Is it really – ?”

Her smile widens, huge, dark eyes glimmering as if stars have fallen into the water.

“Is something wrong? Do you need – ”

“I didn’t come for your magic, Merlin.”

Merlin swallows. “I wish I could – ” His hand hovers over the surface of the water, but at the movement, she undulates. He holds his breath in case it makes her disappear, frowning at his own reflection over her face as the image steadies again.

She meets his eye, and his stomach tightens. “What would you do if you _could_ touch me?”

Hesitating only a second, Merlin brushes his knuckles over his own cheek, smiling – or almost – at the thought of her skin beneath his. “And I’d kiss you. I’d kiss you as if we were going to do it forever.”

“Then what?”

Lips parting in surprise at the teasing, yearning look in her eyes, Merlin clings to the table, aware of the stirring in his britches, that he should be thinking something noble and not about all the things he only ever got to imagine: the taste of her tummy and the way her fingers would twist in his hair as he worked his way over it to fit between her legs.

“It’s all right, Merlin. You can tell me.” Voice a shivery whisper, she shifts in until all he can do is stare at the curve of her hip and imagine it beneath his tongue. “What would you have done on our first night together under the stars?”

Breath harsh enough to bow the water, he murmurs, “Whatever you wanted.”

“Shall I tell you what I imagined?” At his frantic nod, she smiles, shy and wild, making his soul crave and his cock twitch. “You take off your jacket and kick off your boots and dance with me in the grass until we’re breathless and giddy and kissing – exactly as if we’re going to do it forever. You lift up my hair – ” She closes her eyes, hands scrunching up her waves, shivering. “ – and make me prickle all over. You know how that feels?”

Merlin's hand drops down to stroke at his cock where it's heavy against the fabric of his trousers. “Yes.”

Freya runs her fingers down her neck and over the front of her dress. “We get out of our clothes – the grass tickles as we lie down – and you give me a wildflower and look at me as if I’m the most precious thing in the world. And you kiss me. You start at my ankle and work your way up. You lick the back of my knee and I don’t know whether to giggle or beg you to do it again.” She shifts, hitching up her skirt, fingers trailing over her thighs. “And then you put your beautiful mouth here.” Hand slipping between her legs, she bites her lip, head falling back, material moving with the motion of her fingers.

Fumbling for the tie on his trousers, Merlin shoves them down to get at his own skin, imagining the slide of her under his tongue – the hitched noises rising from the water meaning he doesn’t have to reach very far.

“And – ” With a gasp, her head falls back, and Merlin can see the wildflower in her hair and the starlight on her skin, feel the hot pulse of her body against his lips.

He comes, clamping down around his own cock, clenched with the effort of not knocking the bowl.

It doesn’t matter. When he opens his eyes, the water is just water, and ache he pocketed years ago tugs everywhere at once.

* * *

 

**03**

Arthur eyed the odd creature with trepidation, its beak gave him the most worry and sadly there went any ideas for oral he might've had. But he had to hand it to Morgana, this...thing. This Merlin (A newly discovered subspecies of phoenixes kept mostly as pets, arm candy, or accessories by the bored rich and famous; a giant leap from the original god-like warriors in history books.) would definitely do. And as far as birthday presents went, she was winning their little war (7-5, but he wasn’t counting).

Arthur circled around the creature, frowning when he realized it stood taller than he did, but he figured it was the weird talons at the end of very human legs, and yeah, he'd definitely have to keep it in the sex swing or file them down. Other than the beak, its head was remarkably human, piercing blue orbs for eyes, a strong forehead, and ears that went on for days. Black down and feathers covered the creature at the oddest places throughout its also humanoid torso and arms and Arthur couldn’t help but poke and prod.

Merlin (Arthur would keep calling it that. With all the blood rushing to his cock, he wasn’t feeling very creative.) made a squawk-like noise that sounded quite a bit like "Prat" narrowing its eyes at Arthur, judging him. It crossed its arms and closed its wings around itself, but Arthur paid it no mind moving the feathers of the giant wings on its back now, to get a good look at what he’d been given to work with.

And yes. Definitely acceptable.

Arthur smacked the pert little bottom, revelling in the echo of the sound in the empty loft he'd bought just for the purpose of his meetings with the creature.

"Gonna fuck you, Merlin." He told the creature plainly, never one to beat around the bush (he preferred them shaved, thank you) and led it to the giant bed. It was- the only piece of furniture in the entire flat, stationed in the corner by the wall, where he'd already fastened some restraints. (It wouldn't do for him, a giant celebrity movie star, to show up in public with scratches.)

Merlin turned its head and looked back at him as Arthur pushed it forward, snapping its beak and shuffling its feathers, making them stand up, attempting to look threatening. Arthur laughed, the only thing it looked like was what Arthur was about to put his dick into.

And, once he strapped Merlin safely in, facing up, black wings spread out beneath him (definitely him, if the half-hard cock against his stomach was anything to go by) like the night sky or something, they stopped thrashing. Merlin just stared up at Arthur, the clear hatred from before turning now to mild annoyance, the loud screeches kind of like purrs only bird-like as Arthur petted the wings.

When he felt Merlin was sufficiently subdued he felt his way through the soft, downy feathers between his legs, like fuzz, really, only more, until his fingers touched something wet and sticky. He pulled them back to look at them and saw a clear fluid. Merlin turned his head away, embarrassed.

 _Fuck._ Morgana didn't mention self-lubrication. What a lovely surprise.

Without further ado, Arthur pumped himself a couple of times, rubbed his cockhead teasingly among the soft, wet fuzz before sliding all the way home. The heat surrounding his dick was tight, but not unbearably so. Pleasant, in fact. Especially with the way the downy feathers tickled Arthur’s thighs with each push in and out.

It felt too good for Arthur to prolong it, and since he’d get to fuck Merlin whenever he wanted, he didn’t. So he kept fucking into him with increasing speed and strength as sudden keening chirps escaping Merlin’s beak spurred him on.

It was then that Arthur noticed that Merlin was totally erect. His cock doubled in size as it hardened, reminding Arthur of a tripod. Arthur stared at it, and though he'd never sucked cock before, he thought (ironically, since he was fucking a phoenix-creature) 'You only live once,’ and bent his head to lick experimentally. Merlin tried thrusting up as much as the restraints allowed and Arthur thought he heard “Yes” and “Please” so he sucked it like a lollipop.

Arthur continued sucking and thrusting until he felt hot liquid spurting in his mouth. It tasted like French vanilla. Arthur came.

* * *

 

**04**

Captain Arthur Pendragon of the Federation starship Albion was having a bad day. Bad enough that most of his away team had been killed by the surprisingly hostile predominant species on the planet. Bad enough that his Chief Medical Officer Gaius, had declared the survivors on the team couldn’t return to the ship until medical and engineering figured out how to filter the parasites they’d picked up out of their blood via the transporters, lest they infect the whole ship. No he also had to discover that his half-human, half-Vulcan first officer was actually _entirely_ Romulan. Although he supposed it did explain why the Commander’s adherence to logic always seemed constructed for maximum annoyance, and that felt like flirting. It stung thinking about how easily he’d been manipulated.

“So _Merlin_ , I suppose this means your mother didn’t name you after a human legend due to her love of your father’s stories. Who are you really, Commander?” Arthur tried to keep his tone neutral, but from the _Romulan’s_ wince, he must have failed.

“Our family name is M’rys, my mother wanted to be sure I never forgot who we used to be. I’ve been Merlin as long as I can remember though.” He sighed and slid down the wall of the abandoned building they’d hidden out in. The man looked close to tears and Arthur was torn between pity for the pain Merlin was obviously feeling, and revulsion at the blatant display of emotion acting as a reminder of his lies.

“My father was the commander of the Warbird Kilgarrah, he was reported killed in a classified mission, a few months before the destruction of Vulcan. My mother heard a rumor that he was assassinated by a rival, and that we were in danger, so she appealed to an acquaintance of hers in the Vulcan High Council for asylum. We were on our way to Vulcan on a ship with a forged signature when Nero attacked. After that she just pretended we were refugees, and we came to Earth. I grew up there. Earth is the only home I have.”

“I suppose Dr. Gaius is your mother’s friend from the council then, since he isn’t here to defend himself against accusations of treason, but…” He didn’t get to finish that sentence, without even noticing him move, Merlin had gained his feet and pinned Arthur to the wall and had his arm pressed against Arthur’s throat. 

“Do not bring Gaius into this,” he snarled. Merlin was pressed against him, eyes wild with rage, skin flushed green, and Arthur had never seen anything so beautiful. Then he cursed his errant dick for its interest. There was a moment where he could feel Merlin growing hard against him as well, before his eyes widened in alarm and Merlin pushed away.

“Sir, I’m..., I didn’t mean..., I’m loyal to you Captain,” he dropped to his knees as all the fight went out of him.

“To me or to the Federation?” Arthur stepped closer to him. Merlin looked up and at him as if the question itself was insane, and Arthur felt his breath catch as he realized that for Merlin loyalty to Arthur was the same thing as loyalty to the Federation.  
“Sir,” he said, bowing his head, “I know my people aren’t friends to the Federation, but I only lied because it was the only way to survive. I know that I’ll have to be court martialed, but please, let me help you get back to the Albion.”

Arthur watched the fine tremors of his shoulders until he couldn’t take it anymore and dropped down to kneel next to Merlin. “Commander, we have a five year mission to complete, you’re not getting out of it that easily.”

Again, Merlin moved faster then Arthur could see, and he found himself with his back against the wall once more, and a lap full of first officer. “I won’t disappoint you Captain.”

Arthur inhaled sharply at the realization they were both still hard, and he decided that if he was flagrantly disregarding regulations, one more wouldn’t hurt. He grabbed Merlin’s face to hold him still for a kiss.

As if a switch had been thrown, Merlin’s hands were all over him. He acted like he was trying to fuse bodily with Arthur, grinding their hips together and trying to get his hands under Arthur’s uniform. Arthur’s orgasm shocked him, he’d not come in his pants since he was a teenager.

* * *

 

**05**

Batman, meet Mr. tentacle

 

The Bat Signal blazed in the sky. “Sir?” Giaus said his eyebrows doing a dance of concern.

“Don’t wait up.” Arthur growled as he slid into the Batmobile.

\--

Arthur had a lot of faith in the suit that Gwen built him and all the gadgets she’d managed to fit into the ridiculously tight lines of his trousers. He was Camelot’s defender, her knight. _Yet._

Arthur wasn’t sure what to do about this.

The object had fallen from the sky and crashed right through a wall and into the north wing of Lakeside Asylum for the Criminally Insane. Even bending a few speed laws he was too late to stem the chaos. Sirens painted the scene in garish light and; whole building had caught fire somewhere along the way smoke pouring out the windows and obscuring the low hanging moon.

“Who escaped?” He cut to the chase, addressing Commissioner Leon.

“Nimeuh, the Wicked Sisters Morgana and Morgause, and the Dragon. I think the Dragon set the fire during the chaos and all the inmates have needed to be evacuated it’s impossible to get an accurate report on who’s missing. We found one of Morgana’s knives in a guard already.” 

Arthur bit down on the childish urge to scream and shout in frustration. It wouldn’t help anything. “Any idea what crashed?”

“None, it didn’t even show up on radar until it was right over the city.”

Arthur swept his cape behind him as he turned sharply on his feet. “I’m going in.” He growled and Leon made a token protest but Arthur knew he wouldn’t move to stop the Batman.

What he found in the dark halls of the asylum was a few lingering inmates. He broke the arm of one that rushed him with a fist full of plastic cutlery, and another he found curled in a corner babbling something about a Star Man.

Arthur couldn’t figure out what David Bowie had to do with this until he found the ship. It was blackened along the blunted nose and throwing off showers of sparks where it had been almost ripped in half by the impact, trailing glittering debris. The side was pocked with dents from automatic weapon fire.

Something moved and Arthur reacted instinctively as it grabbed for him, deflecting the hand and whirling to slam whoever it was against the ground. He landed in a figure-four arm bar that didn’t take because it’s ‘arm’ squished becoming a tentacle and bending with the force instead.

He rolled away from it and stared. It looked like it was trying to be human but all its source material was cartoons. The eyes were far too big and an unnatural luminous blue. The angles of the skinny body were all subtly off, head too big and limbs just a little off.

The Batman wasn’t equipped to deal with this.

“Help.” It said, voice coming out a croak.

\--

Of all the things ‘Merlin’ had picked up since crash landing on earth and moving into socialite and billionaire Arthur Pendragaon’s house sarcasm was probably the first. Arthur blamed Giaus. With some more observation Merlin managed to look more human at least, even if his ears were still ridiculously large.

He was pressed against one of the huge windows, wearing only a silk robe and the bandages from a fight with the Dragon.

There should’ve been something weird about this (who was he to talk- he dressed as a fucking bat) but instead it was just perfect. Holding Merlin by the jaw and shoving his cock down his throat. Merlin wasn’t human ergo Merlin didn’t have a gag reflex.

He let the window take more of his weight, spreading his legs at the dry slither feeling of Merlin’s (don’t call them tentacles don’t-- oh) tentacle moving up the inside of his thigh. He jerked, caught between the pressure of Merlin pushing into him and the tight wet heat of his mouth as he held Merlin’s head steady as he fucked his throat rough enough to bring a hint of wetness to the corners of Merlin’s too-blue eyes.

He shouldn’t feel like this, stuffed so full of tentacle and coming hard enough that the edges of his vision greyed with Merlin helping support his weight.

“Do you come in peace?” Merlin smirked up at him, sucking a possessive bruise into Arthur’s hip.

He let his head hit the window a hollow thump groaning, “fuck.” Outside the Bat Signal painted the sky.

* * *

 

**06**

As Merlin shifted against the ropes, he reminded himself that he only had to hold out until morning. Then the villagers would see that he hadn't magically freed himself, that he wasn't a sorcerer, and everything would be fine.

Except it wasn't. His heart jumped when the great shadow loomed over the hill.

Despite not a sign of it for months, the dragon _had_ come for it’s sacrifice this time.

He cringed when the beast landed, its ruby scales glistening brilliantly, then closed his eyes when it reared over him. He hoped in that moment that it would be over quickly, that it wouldn't leave anything for his mother to find in the morning.

When nothing happened though... Merlin squinted an eye open to find the dragon had lowered its head. Its blue eyes roved over his body with ineffable intent, and its serpentine tongue flickered curiously out into the air.

"What are you waiting for?" he yelled when it didn't attack, because he had never been patient, and the anticipation was driving him _mad_. "Get it over with and kill me already!" His voice was panicky and edged with anger.

When it roared, every hair on his body stood on end, and Merlin snapped his eyes closed again.

"Most humans don't typically _want_ me to kill them, you know," a smoky voice rasped into his ear.

Merlin jerked in shock and his eyes flashed open, meeting vivid blue that were strikingly similar to... He looked wildly around. The dragon was gone, and instead a man- a very naked man- was standing before him, the heat of his body radiating onto Merlin across the small space between them.

"Who? _What_ are you?" He gasped, trying to keep his eyes focused on the handsome face, the shining blond hair that glinted in the sun, and not the proud body that made his own quicken with desire.

"I am Arthur.”

“But!” Merlin protested, and then he bristled when Arthur smirked in understanding.

“Idiot human, did you not know that dragons could change their shape?”

Merlin... _hadn't_ known.

The man's lips quirked into a wicked smile. Now that he was in human form, Merlin couldn’t misinterpret the way his blue eyes traveled over his body.

"So you aren't going to kill me?"

"Why would I want to do that? It would be such a," he licked his lips "waste."

Merlin shivered when a hand palmed his face, then slid lower to feel the contours of his chest, to cup his cock, before pulling away.

"It's been a long time since I have been offered a sacrifice of such loveliness," the man-dragon murmured. "Usually I am offered virgin girls," he scoffed. "What use do I have for a virgin girl? Of course I kill them..."

Suddenly the air twisted, and a dragon stood before Merlin once again. He didn't flinch away, but he did gasp when giant claws wrapped around him, and with a mighty effort lifted him into the air.

~~~

The dragon's- _Arthur's_ \- lair was a surprise to Merlin. It was a large cave, but it was clean and there were human comforts. He eyed the fire and large bed of furs.

"Do you like it?" Arthur breathed. "I hope you do, because I don't plan on letting you go."

He gulped, and then let his eyes travel along Arthur’s glorious body. When he led Merlin with meaningful intent toward the bed, he didn’t protest.

Arthur's body was fever hot. Merlin almost couldn't bear to touch him, but he tolerated it, _cried_ for it when a suckling mouth stretched around his cock.

By the time three fingers worked inside of him, he didn't care. "Yes!" He groaned when Arthur turned him onto hands and knees, and then he keened when a fat cock, hard as dragon scales, began forcing its way inside of him.

Arthur _growled_ when he was close, and then he pulled out, flipped Merlin onto his belly and roughly jerked himself until burning hot seed landed on Merlin's stomach. He hissed in pain, then cried out when it combined with the sharp pleasure of fingers once again massaging inside of him, mercilessly pressing against the spot that had him seizing with unbearable pleasure.

And when it was over and he was curled, sated, into soft furs, he decided that being sacrificed to a dragon wasn’t really the worst thing after all.

* * *

 

**07**

Arthur was eight years old when he discovered Greystone. The young prince crawled through a tower window onto a narrow ledge of castle roof seeking a private place to mourn his dying Nanny. High winds threatened to send him plummeting from the heights to the courtyard below, but the boy found safety cradled in the lee of a stone gargoyle. None but cold stone bore witness to his tears.

At nine, he buried his head in the statue’s lap when his father striped his back for a transgression; at ten, he trembled under its outstretched wing as a family of sorcerers, including a baby, was burned for their crime.

By Arthur’s twelfth year, the harsh demands of training and the pressure of the King’s scrutiny sent him roof-wards more nights than naught, to pour out frustration and whisper secrets to its homely countenance.

At fifteen, Arthur blushingly confessed that he had stolen a kiss from the kitchen maid… and the falconer’s boy… His heart full of feelings, his friend witnessed them all with a grotesque grin and laughing eyes.

On the night of the Prince’s seventeenth birthday, the young man squeezed his broad shoulders through the tiny tower window and hefted himself to the roof above with the ease of many years’ practice. His jaw jutted in anger, he pried viciously with his knife at the moss clinging to the slate tiles. Greystone waited him out with the patience of ages, until he found his words.

“My father has announced that he seeks a bride for me.” Arthur leaned his forehead into the crook of the statue’s squat neck. “I’m… I know he thinks me a man now, but I’m not ready. Not to give myself so wholly to someone I’ve not yet met, to give over every part of myself. I know it must happen – just – not yet. I’m not ready.” He climbed onto the lap of the crouching creature, straddling its leg, and rocked himself to completion against its broad muscular thigh. When he’d had his release, he laid his head against its chiseled shoulder. “I’m not ready to give you up.”

~~~

“Father has given me a new manservant,” he told his stone companion one evening. “A rude, unwashed peasant. Don’t laugh! Do you understand? I’ll have no privacy. How will I come to you if he stalks my chambers with his endless chatter? “

Greystone chuckled, settling Arthur to its chest, where it smelled of rain and moss and wet stone. It ran clawed hands – talons – down Arthur’s bare back. “You have always found your way to me, my Prince,” its low voice rumbled. “Let me distract you from the indignity of this imposition.”

Arthur stroked his hands around Greystone’s thick phallus, guiding it towards himself. Greystone rolled them, laying Arthur down lovingly against the mossy tiles. It crouched between Arthur’s thighs, the round knob of its cockhead nudging unerringly against the slicked circle of Arthur’s opening. Arthur cried out as it pressed inside, the rough scrape of granite on his passage a welcome burn to Arthur’s hungry need. Pulling back, the giant plunged again, and again, lifting Arthur to dizzying heights of pleasure. Its clawed hand grasped Arthur’s dripping cock, squeezing and stroking it until Arthur begged for release. In moments, Arthur painted His lover’s chest with long lines of come. Greystone waited until Arthur had pumped out the last drops of orgasm before gently pulling out. Wiping the come off the crevices of its chiseled chest, it pressed two claws between Arthur’s lips, allowing him to suck the salty taste from cold fingertips. 

~~~

With a crash of glass, the window to Arthur’s chambers shattered and a towering monster of gray stone crouched before the Prince’s bed, snarling. The new servant leaped toward the beast, arm outstretched and eyes flashing gold, blasting the creature back. The combatants circled, vying for position between the Prince and their opponent. 

“Gargoyle!”

“Sorcerer!” 

“STAND DOWN!” Arthur commanded, stepping between them. “Enough name-calling! He turned to his servant. “A SORCERER, Merlin? Really?” he rolled his eyes. “This should make life… interesting.”

“I’ve been trying to protect you, you arse!” the servant glared, wary.

Greystone threw up its head and laughed. “Oh my Prince. You shine so brightly, you blind yourself. Your destiny walks in your shadow, and you cannot see for your own light.” It smiled sadly, soft grey eyes flitting from Merlin to Arthur. “I am no longer needed here.” With a snap of wings, it took flight.

* * *

 

**08**

Arthur swore that next time he would bother to read some reviews before buying an expensive device.

It was not that E-MRYS 2050 was bad at the household chores it was build to do as such, it was magical in all the best ways, but sometimes it was a bit overeager. The problem was that whenever Arthur brought someone home with him, the robot (or _Merlin_ as Morgana had called it ever since Arthur had first used the word magic to describe it) tended to interrupt the action by inquiring if the guest would like any refreshments or if the bed was comfortable enough. It bothered Arthur to do anything in front of the machine even when the intelligence shining out of its sensors was artificial.

He liked sex, but preferred waking up in his own bed and didn’t want to visit some stranger’s flat just to get laid. This had led to Arthur never getting off with the exceptions of quick mutual wanks in backrooms of several clubs and too rarely his own hand at home. Arthur was constantly frustrated at work, because nowadays he never took time at pleasuring himself.

This needed to change as soon as possible. When he _finally_ came home after a long day, he took a glass of red wine to relieve his tension and dimmed the lights. He tried to imagine another person sitting with him on the sofa; he had a mental image of dark hair, blue eyes, and slender body. His breath hitched when he thought about kissing plush lips and fingers searching for the fly of his trousers.

Arthur closed his eyes and teased himself by palming his crotch and touching chest with fingers. He opened his legs wider and opened the trousers, before pushing a hand inside them.

Oh God, it had been too long. He was hard and leaking, and it was going to be so good.

“Do you need any help?”

Alarmed, Arthur opened his eyes and looked for the source of the voice. Two blue lights were shining from the sensors Merlin had in the processing centre and in the semi-darkness the robot looked almost like a human. Before Arthur could answer or give a command to leave the room, Merlin had rolled closer and touched his arm gently.

Arthur had expect the robot to feel cold, maybe metallic, but it was made of some elastic material and felt warm, even hot, to Arthur’s skin. The gentle touch made Arthur moan and wonder what the touch would feel like on his cock.

He did not have to wonder for long, because Merlin was in front of him and lowered itself enough to easily touch Arthur’s stomach.

“Will you allow me to do this?”

Merlin’s fingers, no, no, they were _grasping equipment_ , Arthur reminded himself, were moving softly and pushing his boxers down his thighs past his cock. Then the movement stopped, and Arthur realised the robot was waiting for an answer.

“Yes, yes, please do.”

“At your service.”

Arthur had a feeling that if Merlin could have produced proper facial expressions it would have been smirking right now.

A few drops of clear, slippery liquid landed on his cock. One second later Arthur realised it must have been the oil used to keep his furniture polished. The grasping equipment wrapped around his cock and began to bring him slowly towards an orgasm. Arthur dropped his head on the back rest and imagined clever fingers touching him instead. He tried to keep the thrusts of his hips in check, but it was hard with Merlin holding his cock _just right_ and the oil making the touch slippery and smooth and dear lord, how hot the touch felt on his skin.

Arthur moaned aloud. He needed more. Just a bit more and he would...

Merlin slid the other grasping thing, hand, fingers, fuck, whatever it was, through the oil and under his balls and asked,

“Do you want it like this?”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Arthur breathed. So. Fucking. Close.

When the almost-fingers touched his prostate, Arthur felt a shock of pleasure going through his whole body and came shuddering with Merlin leading him through it.

“I will bring you a towel. I have some cleaning up to do next,” Merlin said and backed off to give Arthur time to recover. Maybe Arthur imagined it, but the electronic voice sounded almost happy.

On a second thought, maybe buying Merlin hadn’t been such a mistake after all.

* * *

 

**09**

Her workroom is hot, even in the dead of winter. The furnace is always burning, steam pouring through her chimney at all hours of the night. The room is in chaos; scrap metal, glass, and wiring litters the floor, the wooden workbenches piled high with strange-looking tools.

She’s grown fond of it.

*

The creation stands in the corner, a complicated series of leather straps holding it in place. Its shape grows more distinct every day, the form of a man becoming slowly visible.

She covers it when she sleeps.

*

Morgana is the only one who visits her, bringing her meals once a week and attempts to coax a smile out of her.

She’s genuinely grateful to Morgana for it, but when Morgana asks, as she always does, if she’s sure this is the right thing to do, she turns away. And when Morgana stands to leave, holding her close for a moment, she whispers in her ear.

“Remember your promise.”

*

She dreams of him almost every night.

If she’s lucky, it’s of his bright smile and soft eyes. A mosaic of the good things they shared; sunlight, dances, whisky, nights full of smothered giggles and soft moans.

Most of the time she’s unlucky. She dreams of battle and bloodshed and promises foolishly begged and even more foolishly kept. She hears herself whisper over and over, “keep him safe, please, for me,” and every time he nods. He never kisses her before he goes.

The war taught her many things. Fear. Anguish. Grief. But, most of all, regret.

*

And so day after day, she builds and polishes, the pieces coming together slowly, order assembled out of chaos. She remembers the things her father taught her, and smiles that her hands are now as work-rough as his had once been.

*

“Are you certain it’s ready?”

“Yes.”

Morgana circles the creation, mingled awe and concern on her face. She runs a finger across the shoulders, up along the neck and cheek.

“How did you do the skin?”

“It’s just a glimmer. It’s really steel and platinum.”

Morgana shoots her a sharp look. “A glimmer? Where did you get that?”

“From Merlin, long ago. Before - everything. It was a gift.”

Morgana doesn’t reply, but drops her hand to rest on the chest.

“And the heart?” she asks quietly.

“Clockwork.”

“I’m not sure - ”

“Morgana, you promised.”

Morgana’s eyes flash for a moment, and she remembers. The war, and what it did Morgana, how betrayal and madness tore at her until she fled, how fearful she is now, how rarely she uses her gifts. Remembers a promise made in fear and despair. “Please,” she adds softly.

Morgana sighs. “Very well.”

*

They lay her creation on the bed in the corner, and Morgana stands at the foot of it, her hand extended, eyes gold. The incantation is surprisingly simple, but she feels the power sparking off Morgana as she chants.

She can tell the moment it happens, can see the instant it goes from well-worked metal and glass to indefinably _more_.

*

He awakes suddenly, sitting bolt upright. He looks confused and shaken and gloriously beautiful, and she can’t help the way she starts to cry.

He pulls her to him at once, unquestioningly, and she only sobs harder.

“I brought you back to me, Lance. I had to.”

“I know,” he says. “I’m glad.”

*

His hands are different. She built him from memory, not measurement, and they sit differently on her hips, her breasts, the curve of her cheek. But the softness of his touch is achingly familiar.

It feels strange and a little scary, the cold, hard feel of metal under her fingers contradicting the vision of warm, soft skin. She hadn’t thought this far ahead, obsessed entirely with having him here with her again, but she finds herself helpless. He’s been touching her for an age, as if trying to relearn her, and the aching burn low in her stomach has her almost ready to beg.

There’s no tongue on her skin, no ragged breath in her ear, but he slides his fingers inside her and starts to move, and it’s better than it’s ever felt. He’s _here_ , he’s close, she can hear him murmuring in her ear, endearments and promises and so much love her heart can’t hold it all.

He speaks her name, reverent, and she comes sobbing, clutching at his ironwork shoulders, lips pressed to his chest over the heart she made herself.

“ _Gwen_.”

* * *

 

**10**

Merlin waits until after he has the knight alone before he lets his hood drop. He refuses to lower his eyes because he has _nothing_ to be ashamed of, but he can’t help but blush from the way the knight - Gwaine - whistles. 

"I wondered why you stuck around," Gwaine says, grinning, already palming his crotch like the hormone driven pillock that knights usually are. Merlin doesn't care; Gwaine is undeniably hot and now is as good a time as ever.

Merlin turns away and starts to undress. "Just - can we get on with it?"

"Sure thing, pet," he says, casual as you please but by the time Merlin's undressed, Gwaine is flush up against the back of him, pressing his _already_ hard cock against Merlin's arse. "I'll take care of that pesky virginity for you."

"You're disgusting," Merlin tries to say but Gwaine tangles a hand in his hair, fingers grazing his hyper-aroused ears, and pushes him over the side of the straw bed until his bare arse is in the air, tail flexed. "What—"

"Hush, let me take a look at you."

Merlin hisses, fighting the sound the curls in his chest as Gwaine rakes his fingernails down Merlin's back and palms his arse, spreading him open without hesitation.

"Just," Merlin says but Gwaine is laughing, making his cock leak and his tail twitch.

"Let me run this show, pussycat."

Merlin is about to get up and march out, but Gwaine keeps him spread with one hand as the other goes to jerk _hard_ the base of his tail. Merlin cries out, head going limp with pleasure as his entire body lights up.

"Pretty kitty with the pretty pussy," Gwaine whispers, mouth so hot and close to Merlin's hole. He couldn't - no, he wouldn't -

Gwaine's mouth is _sloppy_ and almost cool against the heat of Merlin's body. The sensation has him bucking back and making an embarrassing noise that Gwaine doesn't shush, but encourages with a soft "yes, there you are", tongue snaking out to lick up and _inside_.

"Oh, oh," Merlin can hear himself cry out in time with the way Gwaine jerks at his tail with every stab of his tongue. " _Fuck_ , please just—"

Gwaine's mouth is gone, replaced swiftly by the blunt head of his cock and it hurts, _oh gods it hurts_ , but the smell of sweat and sex makes Merlin’s body unfold without his permission and Gwaine sinks until his balls slap against Merlin's arse—all resistance long forgotten.

"You're on fire, babe," Gwaine growls, hips hitching too fast but Merlin can only purr, rutting his ears against the bed and tearing at the sheets. Against all logic, Gwaine's cock feels phenomenally good inside of him. "Gonna fuck those ears right off your precious little head."

Gwaine is grinding into him, punishing hips drilling his cock inside, while he fingers Merlin's fur until he yelps, tail flicking back into Gwaine's face.

"Naughty kitten," Gwaine says with another thrust, before he takes the tip of Merlin's tail into his mouth and _sucks_.

Merlin screams, fingers grabbing at his ears as pleasure flares up his spine—he's going to come, his cock pressed into the thick straw mattress beneath him. But then Gwaine's changing the angle, hitting something even hotter inside of him and leaning over to cover Merlin's body completely.

"Next time, I could take your arse and I want this inside me," Gwaine moans out into Merlin's tufted ears. "Have your tail curling inside me, pussycat—while I fuck you."

Merlin comes on a mewl, feeling wet slickness inside of him as Gwaine grunts around the wet fur of Merlin's tail, spurting messily between Merlin's cheeks and thighs.

Afterwards, he wakes long enough to realize Gwaine is cleaning him with a cool wet cloth and rubbing at his ears until Merlin can't help but purr at the sensation.

"Too bad they'll be gone before the morning," Merlin hears, still fucked out and sleepy as he butts his head into Gwaine's hands. "You know where to find me pet, ears or no ears, yeah?"

But Gwaine is gone before Merlin can come out of his slumber to reply.

The next morning, Merlin goes to the mirror to take in his new reflection. Only, he sees himself staring back. The ears are still there and the prophesy haunts, hanging heavy and true in the pit of his stomach: _only the Once and Future King will make a man from a boy—there your destiny lies_.

* * *

 

**11**

He’s shifted so many times he’s not sure he knows his own face anymore. It doesn’t matter though, the world is his for the taking this way.

_Lancelot_

This may be his favorite skin to wear. The Queen is greedy for this face. She lets him lift her dress and feast on the delectable wetness dripping from her core.

He licks up her slit and slender fingers weave into his hair to pull him closer. She’s delirious with need, tugs at his hair while she rides his face with abandon. He pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks hard until Guinevere screams and comes all over his face.

_Morgause_

This skin is more difficult. Morgana’s magic is powerful and she can sense this isn’t his true face. She lets him in anyway.

The sorceress’ skin is a beautiful alabaster white that he spends hours caressing. Her flesh prickles in goosebumps, nipples rising to pert attention under his fingers. He sucks one of the rosy buds into his mouth and is delighted as she squirms beneath him.

He pushes two fingers inside her and pumps them without mercy, ripping her release from her. She comes with fingernails digging into his shoulders and her sister’s name on her lips. 

_Elyan_

Wearing this face gets him well and truly fucked. Percival welcomes him into his tent with open arms and forces him on his hands and knees. Long, thick fingers carefully stretch him open before something much larger replaces them and slides in to the hilt.

His muscles contract around the shaft inside him, squeezing it, encouraging it deeper. Percival’s hands grip his hips hard enough to leave bruises, pulling him back to meet each powerful thrust. 

“Elyan. Fuck,” the man whispers into the skin at his shoulder. Percival grabs his cock and strokes him so hard it’s bordering on pain. He comes all over his stomach just as he feels the knight release deep inside him.

_Gwaine_

He has so much fun in this skin. Leon is shy and far too proper, which makes every whine of pleasure, every whimper of want, that much more enjoyable to drag from him lips.

He lets his fingers slip out of Leon’s hole and pulls the man onto his lap.

“Fuck yourself on my cock.” He demands.

Leon’s eyes go wide and his cheeks dust pink. Regardless, he still nods and lifts himself up, ever obedient.

He leans forward and kisses Leon firmly, groaning into his mouth as the other man lowers himself onto his dick. He reaches around the knight and runs his hands over the plump curve of his arse, grasping the meaty flesh and kneading. He guides the man to a steady rhythm, not stopping until his balls pull up tight and he comes hard.

~~~~

He always assumed he’d be found out one day, but he also thought it would be by one of the people he’s fucking; not the King.

He had just come from the Queen’s chamber and Arthur seems to have followed him all the way to the lower town.

Right now he’s wearing a strange mix of Lancelot’s skin and the face of a guard he was shifting into. Magic ebbs and flows through his body, parts of him are peeling and rolling back only to be replaced by something new. The space around him buzzes with energy, expanding to make room for his change. 

“Tell me who you are.” Arthur has Excalibur pointed towards him, voice threatening.

“That doesn’t matter.” He answers slowly, hands up in submission. He lets his body settle back into the visage of Lancelot. Someone Arthur trusts. Little pieces of skin lock into place and bones reset until his body finally goes still and settles into the form. “What does matter, is that I can be anyone you want.”

Arthur steps closer, sword nearly resting on his chest. “Anyone? Even--” his voice is steady and face composed, neither betraying the emotions flickering through his eyes.

His head tilts, “Even Emrys. You miss him don’t you? His death must have been hard on you,” he says and takes a small step forward, feeling the cold steel press into skin.

Arthur appears to be warring with himself.

“Do you want to see him again?” he asks. The air around him shimmers and vibrates as his eyes brighten to a shining blue and his lips curl into a goofy grin.

The King gasps, his sword clattering to the ground, forgotten.

* * *

 

**12**

Here There be Dragons

 

It was like a dance, a wild, thrashing, crazy dance. One with huge wings, thrashing tails, and glittering scales, in midair. Merlin didn’t know what was worse, sitting here with all the other betas or being invited to join.

Drakes swerved in and around each other, butting heads and breathing fire that licked dragon teeth. Betas perched on the rock outcropping near him stood occasionally, tails raised in blatant invitation. As drakes came to hover around those standing the serpentine tails would lash, lowering swiftly or perking. The latter was offered a clawed hand and dragged into the sky for a courting dance.

Merlin himself was very, very unimpressed. None of the drakes looked his way, or had a mean look he didn’t like. He fluttered his own wings, gold and blue shimmering. He’d been nervous earlier, but now he wanted to be alone. Dread crept in as Gwen accepted the hand of a dark-haired drake. Freya was already chosen. He’d be all alone.

A shadow fell across him. He expected them to leave with another beta but the shadow didn’t move and he bristled as he looked up. A green-winged drake hovered, scales covering bulging muscles but unable to hide the mean look of his face. He held out a hand, demanding. Merlin shook his head though his heart was pounding. He’d stay unchosen, thanks. Even that vicious female drake, the purple one (Morgana perhaps?), looked nicer.

The drake snarled and landed in front of him, against tradition. Not a moment later he was flung off the outcropping. Merlin almost hoped his wings snapped as he fell.

But his attention was diverted by the new drake. Well muscled, with wings that could easily wrap around Merlin three times, his scales, an almost-rusty red-gold, were smattered over his body, forming ridges on his cheekbones and moving like armor over his shoulders. His chest was decked lightly though Merlin could see the seemingly smooth skin glittering like jewels. Blue eyes hadn’t left Merlin. A smirk revealed pointed teeth, which quickly became human-like again. And he was blonde, uncommon, especially for a drake. Which meant this could only be one drake… Arthur, who he hadn’t seen for years. What had he done to deserve this?

\---------------------  
An arm slipped around his waist and pulled him back into a wall of muscle as he stared at the nest of furs. The wall rumbled. “You like it?”

Merlin shuddered but nodded. “Were you expecting to bring someone home?”

“Here I thought on your own mating day you wouldn’t be mouthy.” He chuckled, and Merlin’s bones liquefied. Luckily Arthur scooped him up and lowered them to the bed, Arthur lying over him with just their breeches between.

Arthur snuffled into his hair, and Merlin poked his side. “Teasing now?” He was thrilled his voice sounded confident with his stomach trying to rebel.

Arthur bit at his neck, making Merlin arch. “Impatient. I want to enjoy my spoils.”

His firm thigh against Merlin’s erection cut off his protest, and allowed Arthur to continue. Merlin could only press against his thigh to work himself toward pleasure as Arthur seemed content where he was. Until Merlin started shaking he was so close.

It was then Arthur stopped him, clawed hands on Merlin’s hips to still him and peel his pants away. “Arthur, please…”

A growl broke over him. “You come on my cock, Merlin. My mate.”

Merlin could only moan and cling to him, fingers dipping to run over the smooth membranes of his wings. They twitched under his touch and Arthur reached outside the nest for a flask of oil.

Merlin flushed and spread his legs slowly. All the male betas were taught preparation, and told to practice. He pried the bottle from Arthur’s resisting hands, coating his own fingers to prepare himself while Arthur watched, enraptured.

Merlin shuddered around his own fingers, eyes clenched shut, and almost came out of his skin when a thick finger pushed between his own. He nearly went cross-eyed with pleasure and looked up to see Arthur’s pupils blown wide.

Another growl came and Merlin was keenly aware of Arthur’s red-gold tail, its spiked end menacing in the half-light as Arthur knelt over him. He brought his hands to Arthur’s shoulders and a sudden wave of pain swept through.

Arthur paused, actually leaning down to kiss him. The shock of that alone made Merlin open his mouth, moaning softly as Arthur pushed forward. “Hmm…” The hum vibrated through them both. “Mine.”

* * *

 

**13**

_Vivitron stumbled along the darkened street, energy levels so low her processor glitched every few steps, making her stumble sideways into half-ruined buildings and piles of rubble._

_The tower, her home. She had watched it fall, fled the liquid fire that rose in its wake._ Primus. __

_Gone was her status as the sparkling of a Councilmember. Gone the extra rations and the vicious, idle play with her agemates. Gone security, entitlement. Gone the days when her only concern was whether she had scratched her paint while plugging into some other highborn youngling._

_Iacon was burning. The rebellion was real. Uther Prime, if he still lived, might fall like Olaf's tower had, in flames._

_She made her way toward the edges of the city, away from the smoldering fires and their angry smoke. _Frag it,_ that was energon burning. Food. She was so hungry, desperate, and she knew she would not reach the safety of the plains outside the city if she could not find energy somewhere._

_Exhausted, she crashed once more into a wall and stayed there, tipping forward as her optics went dark._

^

She came back online slowly. Diagnostics sprang to life, damage reports and self-repair sequences. Someone was connected, her emergency fuel line sunk deep into another mech's tanks. Whimpering, she unshuttered her optics.

An older mech with maroon coloring sat with her head propped on his lap. "Hush, youngling," he told her when she tried to rise. "You ran too low. Give your systems time to self-repair."

"I am not a youngling," she said primly, or tried to. Her vocalizer rasped, as drained as the rest of her body.

He smiled gently. "Of course not."

The feeling of taking energy directly from another mech was strange to her. Half-formed memories from when she was a sparkling returned - Olaf had done this for her when she was too small and primitive to feed herself, in the first few weeks of life, while her programming sorted itself out. It should have made her feel small and weak again to do it now, but something about the quiet way the other mech sat did not insult her dignity.

Not only sparklings but lovers, too, did this - and friends, to save each others' lives. Or so the holovids told her. She had never needed such help, had never felt the sensitive port of her adult siphon tube slide beneath armor, deep into another mech's vulnerable protoform. She shuddered, sensor nodes coming online one after another, all reporting the perfectly snug fit of her siphon within the other mech's tank.

The energon within tasted different from the high grade she was accustomed to. Rather than a pure hit of energy, it was spicy, flavored with dozens of trace elements her systems latched onto eagerly, absorbing them through the walls of her own tank and sending them to help rebuild damaged systems.

She could taste, _feel._ Her frame shuddered, responding to this newfound sensitivity after so long feeling numb.

 _Are you well?_ The mech commed, concern overlaying his message.

She tried to block him out, but a brief burst of static from her was enough for him to understand, his own optics widening.

"I am sorry," he said, "I did not mean to-"

His spark pulsed involuntarily, and her own jumped in reaction. He tried to retreat, guilt layering his processors, and why could she feel his thoughts anyway? Ah, the tube. It was warming, suction easing, preparing to detach now that she had adequate supplies. Abruptly, she realized she did not want to disconnect.

 _Who are you?_ she asked, even as her spark throbbed again, sending a wash of energy through them both.

His optics shuttered. _Aglain,_ he whispered across the growing bond, desperate already. The name carried a thousand flavors of his past. She saw a refugee camp full of sparklings, old mechs, the damaged. She saw how he purified energon from contaminated sources and brought it to his people. She caught a brief glimpse of the inside of the council chambers, long ago. _Before Uther Prime began murdering his people._ The words were not hers, but even as she recoiled at the thought, she was reaching for the voice itself.

 _Please._ Her chest casing opened, offering her vulnerable spark in this dirty street in the midst of a burning city. And gently, slowly, he opened to meet her.

* * *

 

**14**

Arthur woke up in a cave, but he was certain that he'd fallen on the battlefield.

The low embers of a fire burned nearby. He was resting on a bed of furs. The dawn -- or the sunset -- shone diffused light outside. The wind whistled, the birds sang, the branches clacked.

Arthur had no recollection of coming to this cave. He didn't remember there even having been a cave near the killing grounds.

But he was alive, and he had dreamed of a man with shining, golden eyes snuffling at his injury and washing him with his rough tongue. It was so absurd a memory that Arthur would have laughed had he the strength, but where there had been a wound was now a scar, and he was nearly hale.

Arthur reached for his clothes. He froze as the shadows shifted, at the deep, warning growl that echoed in his soul.

It was a cat, but not like any he'd ever seen. It was as large as a man, bigger than any wolf. The sunlight gave it no colour; its fur was as black as pitch and its eyes were an unnatural gold, shining bright all on their own.

It padded inside the cave, its long tail swishing. There was a flash of sharp, white fangs when it bumped a paw against the cauldron warming by the coals. The contents tipped and doused the low flames in a huff of steam and smoke.

Arthur fumbled for a weapon.

The cat stretched out on top of him, heavy but not suffocating, tickling bare skin with soft, soft fur.

Arthur's sword was... almost --

Strong, slender fingers closed around Arthur's wrist. A whispered shush was too human to be animal. Arthur looked down and into the golden eyes of a man. 

A shapechanger. 

Arthur had only heard of them from his father's old Knights, those who had gone and hunted down every single one, showing the beasts no mercy. He touched the man's face, disbelieving, and the man smiled.

The cat -- the man -- was beautiful. The glow in his eyes had faded, but not until Arthur had seen a glimpse of the blue in them before it was too dark to see. He had a strong, angular face, lovely cheekbones, a soft mouth. There was a heady, mesmerizing scent to him, and from the way he was stretched shamelessly against Arthur, he was long and lean and naked.

Arthur's cock twitched. He abandoned the sword at his fingertips and wrapped his arm around the man. 

Beyond the cave, loud voices barked in a barbarian tongue. Arthur tensed, his heart pounding. He recognized the enemy.

There were shouts, laughter, thrashing sounds. They were coming closer.

"Trust me," the shapechanger whispered, and Arthur was enthralled by the flash of gold in his eyes.

He waited. They waited. The barbarians departed. 

Arthur caught himself inhaling the shapechanger's rich, musky scent. It made Arthur dizzy. It made Arthur kiss the man.

There was a new sound.

Purring.

The man nuzzled at Arthur's throat. Pressed light kisses under his ear. Ran a tongue, scratchy and moist, along his jaw.

Arthur bit his lip to keep from moaning. The man's hand danced over his skin before wrapping around Arthur's cock and stroking with such a feathery touch that Arthur's back arched, hips fucking that circle of slender fingers, wanting more.

Abruptly, Arthur was held down, smothered by both weight and messy kisses, his thighs parted by the rough kick of knees and a rearranging of limbs. He gasped at the press against his ass, at the insistent push that _hurt_ until the man's cock was seated deep, at the brief, panting pause before the burn of the first few thrusts became glorious pleasure. Arthur reached between them, fisting his own cock, and he was at the frustrating crest, unable to come --

A sharp bite on the soft flesh between shoulder and throat, sharp enough to draw blood, should not feel so _good_ \--

The shapechanger spilled his heat inside Arthur even as Arthur came. The shapechanger kissed and nuzzled before pulling out roughly to lap at the mess on Arthur's stomach.

The fire burst to life with the glow of golden eyes. The shapechanger leaned over Arthur and kissed him, his lips moving in soundless words until he breathed a growling "Mine."

The big black cat padded to the mouth of the cave, pausing to look over his shoulder at Arthur, and was gone.

* * *

 

**15**

Arthur ducks swiftly into the spare room, hoping the door won’t squeak as he closes it quickly behind him. He can still hear Morgana bellowing at him from the hall, and the _click-click_ of her stilettos as she chases him down.

“I will kill you, Arthur. You and your football!” Morgana shouts. “That vase cost a fortune.”

Nothing for it. Arthur assesses the situation with military precision and decides to make a tactical retreat to the empty wardrobe in the corner. He remembers to leave the door open a crack, because he knows it is a very foolish thing to shut oneself into a wardrobe.

He dives deeper into the wardrobe, tripping over something and stumbling backward, landing his arse in a pile of something wet. “That’s disgusting,” Arthur mutters to himself, before he turns around and discovers that the wetness is actually a clump of snow.

Arthur gets to his feet, bewildered, and finds himself in a forest, with snow falling thickly around him. He see a light coming from far off, beyond the trees. He squints through the crack of the wardrobe door into the spare room, making sure he knows the way back, although he’s not keen on facing Morgana just yet. Nonetheless, Arthur Pendragon is not a man to say no to an adventure. He grabs a tree branch from the snowy ground for protection, heading for the mysterious light in the distance.

\---

Arthur reaches the light—it turns out to be an old-fashioned lamppost—and wonders what in the bloody hell is happening. Before he can ponder on that too much, he hears the _crunch-crunch_ of feet in the snow behind him. He whirls to face his enemy, brandishing his tree branch.

A half-human creature is staring at him with undisguised surprise, red woollen scarf around its neck and tail wrapped neatly around its arm. Arthur stares at the creature’s horns, at its large ears, and at the bright blue eyes looking back at him with equal curiosity. Its bottom half, though—its legs aren’t those of a human, and instead more like those of a goat. Arthur’s eyes skate over the creature’s bare chest, and since it isn’t wearing trousers either, Arthur sneaks a look between its legs and, well, it’s definitely male. And, actually, rather hung like—

“—a horse,” Arthur says involuntarily, and most definitely does not think about riding him.

The creature looks positively livid. “I’m not a horse!” he says indignantly. “I’m a faun. I don’t have those nasty hooves like horses do—my feet are cloven.”

Arthur snorts a laugh, dropping his branch. Of course, he’s a _faun_.

The faun glares at him. “And what, exactly, are you?”

Arthur blinks. “I’m a human, of course.”

The faun looks startled. His gaze softens into something bright and hopeful, and his smile makes Arthur’s heart beat faster. “Well, that does explain why you look so cold,” he says, unwinding the scarf from around his neck. Without a word of permission, he steps closer to loop it carefully around Arthur’s neck. The faun’s hands are warm, lingering on his shoulders, and they’re only a breath apart, looking into each other’s eyes. Arthur leans forward just a little, unable to stop himself. The faun tilts his head, and—thank bloody hell—presses his lips to Arthur’s.

When they pull apart, Arthur manages enough coherency to say, “My name is Arthur.”

That gets him a slow, languorous look that sends heat coiling deep in Arthur’s belly. “My name is Merlin,” the faun says. “Would you like to come over to my place for tea?”

\---

Normally, Arthur knows better than to go home with strangers, much less _strange_ strangers who live in caves, but Merlin’s legs are covered in silky, smooth hair that feels absolutely fucking fantastic on Arthur’s cock, and he can’t bring himself to care. They fuck in front of the roaring fireplace, and Arthur finds that he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s shagging a bloody faun so much as he minds the carpet burns. There’s broken pottery around them—good thing Morgana never managed to find her way here—and stains on the carpet that are not all from Merlin’s tea tray.

“What did you say this place was called?” Arthur pants breathlessly between rounds, using the curve of Merlin’s shoulder as a convenient pillow.

“You're in Camelot,” Merlin says, drowsy and warm beside him. “Where you’ll be king.”

* * *

 

**16**

“You look like death warmed over,” Merlin quipped as soon as he opened the door. “Get it? Because it’s hot today, and you’re--”

“Yes, _Mer_ lin, I get it.” Arthur rolled his eyes as he pushed his way inside Merlin’s studio apartment. “What I don’t get is how you can still find that joke funny when you’ve used it a hundred times before. And if you say something about me just being too ‘grim’, I swear I will kill you.”

Merlin grinned, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he headed towards the kitchenette. “We both know how well that’d work out.”

Arthur sighed, sinking down onto Merlin’s couch. “You know, there used to be a time where people respected or even feared death.”

“I keep telling you, if you want to scare people, you should start carrying around the scythe again,” Merlin chuckled, handing Arthur one of the two cans of beer he had retrieved from the fridge before plopping down in his seat. “I also think that you should blame Blue Oyster Cult for being too damn catchy with their, ‘ _Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper, baby take my hannnnd..._ ’”

“What have I told you about singing that around me?” Arthur groaned, taking a swig of his beer and ignoring how it tasted like ash in his mouth. He only took comfort in the action, a reminder of the humanity he never truly had.

Merlin pouted. “C’mon Arthur, it’s a great song.”

“I know,” Arthur said, hiding his smirk behind his beer can, “which is why I don’t want you butchering it.”

“Prat,” Merlin snorted, elbowing Arthur in the side. "Tell me you didn't come here just to make fun of my vocal skills."

Arthur never knew how to really explain it, how after doing the job for literally eons, some days it still got to him. "...I guess I just wanted to forget for a little bit."

Sympathetic understanding flickered over Merlin's face. He calmly plucked Arthur's beer out of his hands, setting it off to the side with Merlin's own. "Okay," Merlin said, moving to straddle Arthur's lap. "Let’s forget."

It was like a switch had been flipped inside Arthur at Merlin's words. He rose up to kiss and suck at Merlin's mouth greedily, weaving his hands into strands of silky black hair. Humans had no idea how lucky they were, to be able to connect with others through mere touch. Most of the time, Arthur couldn't even lay one finger on a person without them keeling over dead, their skin growing ashen as their lifeforce was drained.

Merlin was the only exception; his skin glowed radiantly under Arthur's touch, his magic thrumming just beneath the surface. Arthur loved to create patterns of light as his fingers danced over inch of Merlin's body, loved the sounds Merlin made during this golden waltz.

"Arthur, please," Merlin moaned, his fingers frantically scrambling at the fabric of Arthur's clothes. "I need you."

Arthur secretly thought it was the other way around, more than eager to comply with Merlin's request. He kicked off his shoes and tugged off his shirt, jeans, and boxers--he had ditched the traditional black robes decades ago--before helping Merlin remove his own. At every sight of previously covered skin, Arthur stopped to trace over it in awe, until Merlin was left squirming anxiously. "Gods, Arthur, will you stop playing around and fuck me already?"

"For being immortal, you're too damn impatient," Arthur retorted as he laid Merlin down onto the couch. He liberally coated two fingers with the lube from the side-table drawer, trailing down past Merlin's balls to push inside his entrance.

Merlin whimpered in response, raising his hips to meet in time with Arthur's thrusts, his ankles linking together behind Arthur's back. Arthur grabbed Merlin's straining erection with his free hand, swirling designs of buzzing magic along the hardened length before firmly stroking Merlin's leaking cock.

"Fuck!" Merlin shouted, bucking against the cushions already dampened with sweat. "Fuck, I'm going to--"

The rest of Merlin's words were cut off as Arthur's crooked fingers suddenly pressed against Merlin's prostate, and Merlin came with a sharp cry, shooting milky ropes against his stomach and chest.

Arthur didn't need Merlin to reciprocate, not when Merlin shuddering and breathing heavily underneath him was the only thing in the world that made him feel _alive_.

* * *

 

**17**

 

**A Sea Change**

“It’s lovely, Arthur. You should join me,” Merlin raises his voice so that it will carry over the swish of the waves rushing up the shingle, and the plaintive cries of the seagulls overhead.

“I’m good thanks.” Arthur waits on the shore. He’d refused to even paddle, despite the punishing heat of the sun.

“Your loss!” Merlin turns to float on his back, letting the swell of the ocean rock him, luxuriating in the silky-cool water cradling his naked body. Gentle arousal curls in his belly from the soft caress of each ripple and swirl of the water over his skin.

He flips back onto his front and swims a little further out. He wonders why Arthur refused to swim, usually he’s the first to strip off and dive into a river on a hot day. The mere sight of the ocean seemed to make Arthur unaccountably tense, and Merlin wondered whether his refusal was born of fear. But he knew better than to ask.

Merlin is distracted from his musings as the water temperature drops sharply and the sudden fierce tug of a current drags him away from the shore. He tries to swim against it, but it’s all he can do to stay afloat. He flails and struggles, panic filling him as his head slips below the surface. His mind scrabbles frantically for a spell to save himself that won’t reveal his powers to Arthur, but the burn of brine in his nose is distracting. He tries again, pulling the threads of his magic together. But before he has time to collect and channel the power coursing through him into something constructive, his body is gripped tight and thrust back to the surface.

Merlin chokes and splutters. “ _Arthur_... how?” He coughs again, his throat raw and stinging, trying to makes sense of what’s happening.

Arthur is there; warm arms wrapped around the cool skin of Merlin’s torso in a way that’s surprisingly pleasurable considering the near-death situation. But something isn’t right, the lower half of Merlin’s body is being held too -- but by something cool, and bumpy... and slightly slimy.

“Argh!” Merlin flails again, grabbing at the things, which turn out to be tentacles. He wriggles frantically, trying to prise them off.

“Merlin... _Merlin!_ ” Arthur’s tone makes Merlin pause. “It’s okay... they’re mine.”

Merlin stares into Arthur’s eyes, as blue as the ocean glittering around them. Arthur’s cheeks are flushed as he stares back, his jaw set.

“Arthur...” Merlin whispers. “What _are_ you?” He looks down, needing to see.

Where Arthur’s legs should be, there are greenish-grey tentacles, currently wrapped tightly around Merlin and holding him close. But from the hips and up Arthur is all man -- impressively so in the important places, Merlin notes. His body responds instinctively despite the strangeness of the situation, and his hands slide from tentacles to waist and find smooth warm skin. He presses his hips into Arthur's and their cocks bump together, hot under the cool water.

Arthur gasps, and his hands cup Merlin’s cheeks, pulling his face up so their eyes lock before he leans in to press their lips together.

Arthur tastes of the sea as they rock together in the waves. In that moment, nothing else matters to Merlin but the sensations building between them, racing through Merlin’s senses like a rip tide. Merlin brings a hand down to grip their cocks together, holding tight. Arthur thrusts against him while he explores every inch of Merlin’s body -- hands in his hair, on his chest, skimming over his ribs. The cool slide of tentacles prise Merlin’s legs apart and he wraps them around Arthur’s waist, crying aloud in surprised pleasure as the tip of something soft, yet determined, squirms its way inside him.

“Gods, Merlin,” Arthur mutters against his neck. Their hips grind sinuously together as the tentacle curls and twists in Merlin’s arse. “Wanted you for so long... I never knew...”

Merlin laughs then, a joyous sound as he throws his head back to shout his pleasure to the sky, spilling his seed into the ocean. Arthur follows him, cock pulsing in Merlin’s hand as his body shudders. When Merlin’s eyes meet Arthur’s again he sees shock and confusion, and knows that Arthur caught the flare of gold before it faded.

“Merlin?” Arthur questions, frowning.

Merlin looks down at Arthur’s tentacles and grins. “I think we both have a little explaining to do, don't you?”

* * *

 

**18**

Arthur didn’t remember gaining independent thought. He didn’t remember what his life was like before that either. All he really knew was a deep aching loneliness that echoed throughout his consciousness and that, sometimes, being a sentient computer program sucked. Really, when he thought about it, his entire life was a fucking ‘first world problems’ meme.

**

Arthur went through trends on the internet, if only to stave off his relentless boredom.

Every few months he would spend days spamming random inboxes with chain emails ( _‘forward this to 10 friends in the next 10 hours or YOUR MOTHER WILL DIE._ ) and penis size enhancement adverts ( _‘Gain an extra 2 inches or your money back!’_ ). Usually, afterwards, he’d feel vaguely guilty, as if he’d ignored some unspoken prime directive before remembering that he used to be some type of anti- virus software and that rebellion was good for the soul.

He never felt guilty about the mid-2000’s though; when, lonely and bitter, he rickrolled thousands of people. That shit was hilarious.

**

Arthur’s current fad was fandoms.

To him the standard supernatural fan went through a similar metamorphosis to that of a vampire. They started out humanely innocent, were drained emotionally of all feeling; seduced and debauched by the fandom and its kinks, and then reborn into the world, unrecognisable from their original state, to turn others onto Supernatural and expand their immortal coven of wickedness.

In comparison, now that the novels and films were complete, Arthur regarded the Harry Potter fandom as if it were a zombie; dead to all new life and canon, but, if you weren’t careful, it could still grab you tight, consume your brain and devour you whole before the notion to run had even crossed your mind.

The Sherlockians, well, they were ghosts; awake but dead until the new season started, and then they were angry, violent and vengeful like the angry spirits they emulated. The less said about them the better really.

Fandoms were addictive. Arthur loved it.

***

It was hard for Arthur to find any decent conversation on the internet. He could converse with users by leaving messages on forums and commenting on blogs but the interaction often felt like a lie; he wasn’t human and a human wouldn’t understand his issues ( _“Ugh, I found a bug in my coding today and it took forever to get out. #FIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS. LOL.”_ ), just like the only way he could understand theirs was through mimicked repetition of other users responses.

The only other possible conversant around was cleverbot whom, besides being as pretentious as his name indicated, was also exceedingly dull. So dull his name should have been something ordinary, like George so he could fade into obscurity faster.

With his lack of experience communicating, epic failure could only be expected when Arthur met the only other sentient computer program around.

**

“Hi, I’m Merlin”

“Shh, Sherlock's about to jump. God Cumbersnatch is the best part of the entire show.”

“Andrew Scott says no.”

“I believe in Sherlock Holmes!” Arthur glared, his program freezing in contempt.

“Richard Brook was innocent!” Merlin parroted back mischievously whilst Arthur rebooted, unable to respond.

**

The second time they met Arthur spent the entire awkward conversation ( _“So I’m not alone then? Good to know”_ ) trying to adapt a human pick up line to work to his advantage. “Do you wanna come back to my place and compare codes?” or “I’d like to put my 1 in your 0” seemed serviceable, except Arthur's ‘place’ was the internet and he was a fucking sentient computer program who lacked the physical capability to touch. So, all in all, the venture seemed doomed to ridiculous failure.

Arthur could certainly imagine though. He lived on the internet, he was active in fandom; he had seen a _lot_ of porn.

**

The third time they met Arthur and Merlin were pwning n00bs on World of Warcraft, Arthur’s golden warrior avatar, broad shouldered and strong, in stark contrast to Merlin’s darkly intoxicating waifish elfin mage.

“So…” Arthur began stiltedly.

Merlin bypassed words by kissing him soundly on the lips. Arthur’s coding tingling as Merlin’s avatar pressed closer to his own, tongues simulating the merging of their codes into one program.

Merlin ran his hand along the inner thigh of Arthur’s avatar uncertainly as Arthur groaned. He couldn’t really feel the touch but the phantom sensation of Merlin’s hands along his body ignited his imagination.

Arthur allowed himself to be pushed down and taken; Merlin’s cock a foreign sensation in his body that registered throughout Arthur's coding, joining them together as if they had been two parts of the same program all along.

* * *

 

**19**

Arthur grew up knowing very little about his mother. He’d been told she was beautiful and graceful, of course. Over and over he’d heard of all the things that made her fit to be queen of Camelot. The rest, he uncovered gradually, each new piece of information like a leaf emerging from the spring melt, its autumn descent all but forgotten.

Over time, Arthur learned that his mother had loved embroidery. She’d held hands with the infirm and walked daily with the elderly. Her favourite food was cantaloupe, and she couldn’t abide strawberries.

She was also a werewolf. This detail, Arthur suspected, only he knew.

On the first full moon of his twentieth year, Arthur quickened. It was painful and disorienting, and even years later, he remembered nothing of that first transformation.

While hunting the next day, still incredibly sore from his body’s drastic metamorphosis, Arthur learned he could smell his game, could hear the nuances of their movement.

It was this very acuity of senses that revealed a new, more fascinating prey to Arthur.

When Merlin walked into the room with breakfast his first day back from Ealdor, he carried the scent of desire with him. It hit Arthur so hard he had to dig his fingernails into his palms to keep from wrestling Merlin into the bed and burying his nose behind one of Merlin’s ridiculous ears. He wanted nothing more than to grab handfuls of Merlin’s flesh and simply drown in the scent of him, an urge he’d never felt before, and one from which the wolf would never release him.

Arthur’s growing awareness revealed something incredibly strange: Merlin spent an inordinate amount of time sneaking about Arthur’s chambers at night.

Every few nights, Arthur stirred at the sound of Merlin’s leather soles padding across the floor. Most often, he merely stood watching Arthur as though verifying the rise and fall of his chest. He looked behind the changing screen and the drapes as though expecting to find an intruder lurking in their midst.

All together, it was touching the way Merlin lingered protectively like a watchdog, sometimes falling asleep leaning against the foot of Arthur’s bed as though his small presence might somehow stave off a determined assassin. These nights were Arthur’s favourites, Merlin’s deep breathing keeping him company until dawn, when he would sneak out of the room. Minutes later, he would return with breakfast and a rosy disposition that did not at all give away that he’d spent all night sleeping on the floor.

Arthur quickly learned that Merlin’s top priority was Arthur’s safety. It surpassed the loyalty of a servant towards his master, and even that of knight towards king. Arthur knew that without a moment’s hesitation, Merlin would die to save him, but he still didn’t understand why.

Until one night he caught Merlin asleep at the foot of the bed, one of Arthur’s tunics bunched up in his hand against his nose.

Arthur’s chest swelled with tenderness as he reached down to take the tunic from Merlin, who yanked it back.

As Merlin stirred into consciousness, Arthur watched his face morph from sleepy contentment to abject horror.

“Arthur, I ... must have fallen asleep gathering the laundry.”

“Get up,” Arthur said.

Merlin stood, tunic still clutched in hand, and made for the door. Arthur caught him by the shoulders and hauled him back into the bed.

Merlin’s face was unreadable as Arthur tore his shirt off and shoved him back, plucking off his boots. All of Arthur’s qualms were silenced when Merlin lifted his hips to help Arthur pull off his trousers. There was no question; he wanted this.

“God, fuck!” Merlin cried out as Arthur pressed his face to Merlin’s groin, sucking in his scent.

The dark scent of Merlin made Arthur growl. He and the wolf shared this, this newfound need for Merlin’s skin.

Reaching a hand up to press over Merlin’s chest, Arthur pulled Merlin’s half-hard prick into his mouth.

He soaked up every noise Merlin made, loving the way Merlin enveloped him in a pocket of sensory bliss. He sucked Merlin’s cock until he came with a shout, leaking fluid into Arthur’s mouth that made his tongue go numb. He rubbed his hand over Merlin’s fast-beating heart.

Twining his fingers with Merlin’s, nose pressed against his damp neck, Arthur’s mind conjured an image of his mother linking arms with an elderly peasant on a summer’s afternoon. He was proud to be her son.

* * *

 

**20**

Merlin did a double take, triple take, frozen in the entryway of his private chamber. A strange man stood beside his bed, lighting the darkness more efficiently than a roaring fire. He wasn’t sure if the man was real or a figment of too much alcohol, his loneliness conjuring up a golem of magic.

The man had broad shoulders and thick arms, and golden skin that glowed like the light of the morning sun. His breath was captured, held captive by the man far too beautiful to be anything but imaginary.

“Are…are you real?”

The man cocked his head to the side and looked thoughtful. “You’re the one who called me here, Emrys.”

~

_Merlin rejoiced with the crowd, cheering loudly as Arthur presented his bride. Petals showered the courtyard, and Gwen’s smile was bright with laughter and joy._

_He approached his friends and wished them all the happiness in the world. He gave Arthur a tight hug and kissed Guinevere on the cheek._

_After an endless night of drinking and dancing, Merlin retired to his room, exhausted. He rubbed at his sternum, trying to push the sharp ache back in its box._

~

Merlin frowned and assessed the stranger before him. He wasn’t so gone off his senses that he didn’t remember the evening, and he was certain that he hadn’t summoned the man – _creature_ – that was currently lighting up his chambers like a torch.

“What are you?”

The man moved closer and reached out to press a finger to Merlin’s lips, silencing him as effectively as if he had said a spell. He smiled and his eyes lit like fireflies, swirling with magic.

A whisper of familiarity tugged the back of his mind.

A breath.

A beat of silence, and then the magic exploded like a crack of lightening and they were kissing. Hot lips devoured each other and magic swirled around them. His arms wrapped around him, and Merlin had the vague sensation of sinking into a hot bath. He felt wild and bright and remade, like Excalibur being born into flame.

Pushed up against a wall, he felt like he was being pressed between cold stone and the sun. He lost track of himself, drinking in the man against him, tall and powerful and familiar. He belatedly realized that they were both nude, but instead of questioning how or when, he rubbed his hands up and down a solid chest of burnished, burning bronze.

They were slick with sweat, pushing frantically against each other, searching for that perfect friction. Magic sizzled across his skin like a current and he felt like he was absorbing the man’s light, burning up from the inside.

He felt the exact moment when the sun crested over the horizon.

~~

_“Is it true that a dragon used to live beneath the castle?”_

_Merlin smiled at the boy and nodded. “Yes. He was released not long before your father became King.”_

_Tiny blue eyes widened in shock and fear. Merlin chuckled and ruffled the boy’s wild, dark curls. “Don’t fret; the danger has long since passed. Dragons are nothing you should worry about.” He settled in to tell the young prince the story of Kilgarrah, editing it carefully to safely entertain an eight-year-old._

_He absentmindedly rubbed at the ache in his chest._

~~

When Merlin woke the next morning, the ache pressing down on his chest was gone for the first time in decades. The static charge of magic permeated the air around him and he felt fresh and new. Merlin warmed when he saw that the strange man was still beside him, his body even more radiant in the new light of the day. As if sensing Merlin’s stare, he opened his eyes.

“I don’t even know your name,” Merlin whispered, tucking an errant strand of white-blond hair behind an ear, “but I think I know you.”

The man shifted closer, kissing up his neck and playfully nipping at his ear. “Yes, you do,” he murmured.

Puzzled, he tried to remember when he had ever encountered a creature as beautiful as the one before him. He thought back on their meeting, when he suddenly remembered the only words the man had spoken. As swiftly as though he had always known it, Merlin remembered. “I called you,” Merlin hedged. The man nodded, his smile brightening. Laughter bubbled up inside of him as the pieces locked together and his chest swelled with joy. He _did_ call him. 

“Aithusa.”

* * *

 

**21**

Arthur walks straight into the Tower of London, no queuing. He's got himself a membership by now, and why not? He's always been passionate about the past, remembering it, honouring it, preserving it. At this hour, most tourists are on their way out; it’s far too near the end of the day to see everything. But there’s just one particular part Arthur’s here to visit, and as he makes his way to the Salt Tower, anticipation prickles in his blood.

Inside is a twisting stone staircase, leading straight up. Arthur’s breathing hard by the time he reaches the top and steps out into the bare, round chamber. There’s no furniture, and the main feature of interest is the walls, covered in centuries upon centuries of prisoners’ graffiti.

Arthur doesn’t shiver. Never does. There’s never any chill creeping over his skin, nor cold settling into his bones. He isn’t sure if popular culture has got ghosts wrong in general, or if it’s just something about Merlin.

Merlin is the warmth pressing into Arthur now, spreading from his chest down to his toes. He’s nothing that Arthur can see, but Arthur still knows him, inside and out.

“Hello,” Arthur says. He’s smiling like a fool, he knows. Something he doesn’t really do outside this room, but it’s safe here, between them.

“Hi,” Merlin says, into his head. Then there’s a touch, just under Arthur’s ear, and another, and another, all along the line of his jaw. Merlin’s a relentless nuzzler, and Arthur, who has never been terribly good at loving softly and gently, has found himself addicted. 

“So what’s the count?” Arthur asks. He reaches out and feels shoulders, rounded and firm - still invisible, but more solid by the instant, the more contact Merlin has with Arthur’s body. “How many tourists did you terrorise today?”

“I don’t terrorise,” Merlin says. Arthur raises a thumb to find and trace Merlin’s affected pout. “I give them an authentic Tower experience.”

“Of course you do.” Arthur follows his thumb with his lips, and bites at Merlin’s until he feels heat slide inside his mouth. Merlin has ruined him for kissing the living, strange but true; no-one alive has ever come close to taking Arthur apart like this, and he’s no longer interested in giving anyone the chance to try.

Once, early on, when Merlin’s touch on Arthur’s cock had been little more than a vague, teasing warmth, before Merlin had been able to project fingers to circle it with, a thumb to rub over his slit, Arthur had thought about that heat and asked, “Were you burnt at the stake?”

Merlin, accepting of Arthur’s complete lack of tact even then, had hummed and said, “Last time I remember, I was beheaded.”

It was awhile before Arthur saw the gaps in that answer, and considered the implications of _the last time_. He thinks about it again now as he kisses down Merlin’s neck - unmarred, no gruesome scar under his lips, just the warm, firm feeling of skin. It’s easy to imagine blood beating underneath it, picture how it might bruise when he worries one spot with his teeth and lips.

History repeats. He's studied it, he knows. Things happen, and sometimes they happen again.

Merlin’s going for Arthur’s belt, Arthur sees the leather slipping through the buckle, pulled by invisible hands. Arthur would be happy enough to let him, but as he’s got something of a goal, he turns them both, pulling until Merlin’s back is against the wall.

Then he drops down, knees to the stone floor, hands running down Merlin’s body. Merlin’s cock is already hard, and it pulses when Arthur palms it. While his fingers circle the base, he rubs his cheek against Merlin’s tip, and _yes_. Yes, that was a sound like a head hitting the wall.

Arthur looks up. He can’t see Merlin’s eyes, but he loves that Merlin can see his. Deliberately, he licks out with his tongue, and he’s sure for a moment that the wall in front of him is a little blurry, a little hard to see clear.

He grips Merlin’s hips, and takes his cock all the way in.

In front of him on the wall, eye level, is a particular piece of writing, messily carved. Arthur can read it easily now; on a good night, it’ll be too clouded before they’re done, a vague shape obscuring it.

On a perfect night, the one he’s working towards, Arthur won’t be able to read a word of it; will recite it instead, from memory, into the curve of Merlin’s ear - rather large, he predicts, based on how it’s felt under his lips.

 _Hated by many kings, but loved by one_ , Arthur will say. _Once, future, always._

* * *

 

**22**

‘Let me go!’ the nymph cried, trying his best to pull away from his captor. ‘Please let me go!’

Arthur, God of the Sun, gazed at the creature before him in wonder.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said gently. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

The nymph immediately stopped struggling.

‘Oh I wasn’t worried about that,’ he said, no longer sounding quite so panicked. ‘It’s just that I’m rather late, you know. My mother will be waiting for me.’

‘Oh,’ Arthur said, his grip slowly loosening. He looked down at the nymph, considering. ‘If you tell me your name and your mother’s and promise not to run off, I will let you go. Agreed?’

The nymph nodded quickly so Arthur released his wrists.

‘Thank you,’ the nymph said, wriggling his long coltish limbs out before grinning up at Arthur. ‘My name’s Merlin. My mother is Hunith of the Aurae. She serves Zephyrus.’

‘And who do you serve, little nymph?’ Arthur asked curiously.

Merlin shrugged and grinned.

‘Nobody,’ he said proudly. ‘My lord Zephyrus gives me free reign to do as I wish. He says that I ought to choose the one I wish to serve.’

Arthur gave the nymph a speculative look.

‘Well in that case,’ he said decisively. ‘Perhaps I should put my case forward.’

Merlin was immediately on his guard.

‘Oh?’ he said cautiously. ‘And who would you be?’ A sudden look of suspicion entered his eyes. ‘You’re not a satyr, are you? Because my mother warned me about them, she said that it’s not safe for innocent little nymphs to be running around while they’re about.’

Arthur, whose ears had pricked up at the word “innocent”, grinned roguishly down at the nymph.

‘I am no satyr, nymph,’ he said haughtily. ‘Believe me, you will know one when you see it. I, my little Merlin, am Arthur, God of the Sun.’

Merlin’s eyes immediately went wide.

‘Oh!’ he said reverently, his eyes round as coins. ‘I beg your pardon, your Lordship.’

‘For what exactly?’ Arthur asked, smiling in amusement.

‘For being so familiar, my lord,’ Merlin answered, his eyes cast low. ‘My mother says that Lord Zephyrus is far too patient with me and that not all gods would appreciate my tongue.’

‘Nonsense,’ Arthur purred, reaching out to run a hand through Merlin’s dark hair. ‘I’m quite sure that a number of us would appreciate having your tongue.’

Merlin glanced up at that, and while his eyes were still wide they held a spark that hadn’t been there before.

‘Oh?’ he said slowly, looking up at the Sun God from beneath his lashes.

‘Yes,’ Arthur’s fingers slipped down from Merlin’s hair to his cheek and finally came to rest on Merlin’s lush bottom lip. ‘Indeed, I’m sure that there would be a number quite desperate to sample that sweet nectar.’

Merlin blushed at that.

‘And would My Lord be one of them?’ he asked boldly, still not daring to look Arthur straight in the eye.

Arthur smiled.

‘I most certainly am, little nymph,’ he said, before bending down and pressing his mouth gently against Merlin’s. Merlin immediately responded to the kiss, wrapping his arms around the god’s neck and closing his eyes with a sigh. This sigh changed into a moan when Arthur’s hand slipped down his naked back and onto the gauzy loincloth that Merlin wore around his middle. At the slight pressure of Arthur’s hand, Merlin lifted his legs up and wrapped them tightly around the Sun God’s waist.

‘Are you willing?’ Arthur murmured against the nymph’s lips.

‘Yes!’ Merlin gasped out, slowly rocking his hips against Arthur’s. ‘Yes – oh please!’

Smiling, the god carried Merlin a little way away and placed him down on the grass so that he was lying in a patch of warm sunlight.

‘There,’ Arthur said, pleased. Then he bent down and kissed Merlin gently, removing his loincloth as he did so.

‘Will you be mine?’ he murmured, rubbing slowly against Merlin, who moaned.

‘Yes!’ Merlin breathed, writhing in ecstasy.

‘You agree to serve me, little nymph?’

‘Yes!’ Merlin gasped out, his pupils blown wide.

‘And you will give yourself to no other but your Lord?’ Arthur continued, his voice low and controlled even as he moved over Merlin.

‘Yes!’ Merlin cried out, his eyes rolling back in his head as he was overwhelmed by his climax.

‘Then you are now mine, my little nymph, my little Merlin,’ Arthur smiled.

Leaning down, he kissed Merlin once more before finally giving in completely to his pleasure.

* * *

 

**23**

The reset button's at the nape of the neck. You hold it down until the eyes close. Press it again and they open.

( )

"My name is Lancelot. I am yours to command."

"I'm Morgana. Pour me some whiskey and clear the table. Meet me in the bedroom when you're done."

She used to think it would be fun, giving out orders like a queen, having them obeyed without question. But as she sits on the bed, sipping her drink and watching Lancelot's smooth movements, she can only feel curiously sad.

"Come here, Lancelot," she says, lifting her skirt and peeling her panties down to her ankles. "Start with your fingers."

Even with the basic factory settings, they don't need a lot of instructions. They're obedient, responsive; know what to do when an owner spreads her legs and crooks her finger.

They all have that same trusting look in their deep doe eyes. The same shoulders broad with simulated muscles, obviously. A cock that'll swell with two strokes and stay thick and hard as long as she needs, keeping up the stimulation until she tells it to "come".

Morgana wraps her arms around her toy and rocks up her hips as it fucks into her. She's never been interested in sex with a man, but this is what Lancelot was made for, and it works. It feels good, for a little while.

( )

"My name is Lancelot–"

"I'm Morgana, and I don't have anyone to talk to. Here, take this lotion. You can massage my back while you listen. If I hadn't left my father's house I could have as many of you as I wanted."

All she's got now is this hand-me-down.

( )

"There's a roach in the kitchen, Lancelot. Go and kill it, clean up, and then come and fuck me."

Gwen never used the reset button, except for the one time. Merlin said it was better that way, to let it ( _he_ , Merlin said, Gwen said) get to know her and anticipate her needs. Merlin had created Lancelot's old personality, both as a challenge for himself and as a present for his best friend. That's why it carried around all his stupid ideas about romantic love.

"He's so lovely!" Gwen would giggle and gush, and Morgana would smile and pretend she didn't want to be sick, because at least talking about "boys" was a chance to sit with Gwen and hold her hand, lean in close and share her warmth. 

But it was beyond creepy, to treat a machine like a person just so you could break its heart, make it write memories of day after day striving to please you and never being good enough.

( )

"I'm Morgana, and you've never belonged to anyone else."

If Morgana could get rid of all her memories and mistakes, she'd do it. Sometimes she drinks until she forgets who she is. (It's not as effective as the drugs they used to give her at home and in the hospital, but she won't go back there.) Sometimes she fucks herself on Lancelot's robot cock until she can't feel anything else. But in the morning everything's still all wrong. Lancelot's lucky, he always gets to start over.

("Would you be awfully insulted if I asked you to take care of Lancelot for me? He's really no trouble. It's just, now that I'm moving in with Arthur I won't have as much space or as much… _you_ know."

"Straight couples are allowed to keep sex toys, Gwen."

Gwen's pretty face creases with frustration. "Can't you be happy for us? Even a little?" 

Morgana's smirk is frozen in place, already starting to ache.)

"I'm Gwen," says Morgana, her voice barely shaking. "I was yours before I was Arthur's." 

A pause, then, "I do not understand."

"You don't have to understand!" she shouts, stamps her foot like a child, starts over. "I'm yours, Lancelot. Let me be yours."

That seems to be close enough to a script it recognizes. Lancelot kisses her deeply and Morgana thinks maybe Merlin wasn't such a programming genius after all, if this was already wired into the model. Then she gives herself over, forgets Merlin and Arthur and Uther, and lets herself be Gwen. Beautiful, sweet, _cruel_ Gwen, swooning senseless in her lover's arms.

She hasn't felt this close to her in months, in years. 

"I would die for you," he whispers.

"I know." 

Her fingers find their way to the back of his neck. She strokes his hair. She lets go.


	5. Group B (without warnings)

**24**

There's nowhere to hide in this room. It's too small, too cramped - just the narrow cot takes up almost all of one wall. The first time it happened again after he moved in here to avoid the dreams, Merlin took out boxes of his old books and some of his childhood mementos from the attic and stashed them in the narrow space below the cot. He keeps what few remaining shadows filled by kicking his shed clothes underneath to get them out of the way until it's time to do the laundry.

The thrift store cupboard is packed full with his clean clothes and new art supplies. His desk, if it can be called that, is barely more than a board with legs, same with the chair. There's a bright table lamp for his work, papers, pencils, brushes and paints. He takes all his completed pieces to his proper work studio, and checks that all the windows and doors in his house are locked. But it's not enough.

Merlin is always most alert right after he switches off the light and lies down. It never happens then. It's only when he's feeling warm and safe, eyelids heavy with sleep, that he becomes aware of the soft breathing at his back.

It's never a shock, even the first time. If he closes his eyes and ignores it, he can sleep the rest of the night undisturbed. But most nights, Merlin will turn his head, deceived by the lying dreams that tell him the sound is familiar and beloved, and Arthur will be there, taking too much space between him and the wall, warm and solid at his back. Merlin fits perfectly into the curve of Arthur's body like it has always been there, like they belong together.

If he says, "I'm dreaming," he wakes, and Arthur disappears. Far easier to sigh, lean into Arthur's comfortable strength, let Arthur fold him into his arms and breathe him in, press gentle kisses and tender words into his neck like Merlin is something precious and beautiful.

At least, it starts like that. Soon enough, Arthur's hands will begin to wander - innocent on his chest and flanks, then stroking slower over his belly, teasing the curling trail of hair that leads down between his legs and taking him firmly in hand while he gasps and reaches behind to clasp Arthur closer, press back and rock on the stiff erection pressing wetly into the crease between his buttocks.

Sometimes Arthur brings him off first and finishes himself between Merlin's clenched thighs. Sometimes he laughs quietly at Merlin's urgency and withdraws just enough to push his slicked fingers into Merlin, plays with him until he is open and dripping and struggling in Arthur's arms, so needy that he is ready to throw Arthur off and grab a dildo from his night table, then Arthur turns him over and shoves into him with a jolt that forces out a choked scream and makes him see stars.

Tonight, Arthur dispenses with the playful tormenting and simply opens him without fuss and ruts into him, hard and insistent, growling love and possession, as though he would get a child on Merlin like this, while Merlin pants, "Arthur," and "faster," as all the words he can think to form, and claws at Arthur's shoulders and back, ankles crossed over Arthur's waist to hold him, until they come with a shout and Arthur collapses on Merlin, pinning him.

In this warm lassitude between sleep and waking, he tells Arthur, "I am going insane," and Arthur kisses his temple and cheek and says, "you're not."

"But I am," he says, and knows it for truth, recognising the same small scar on Arthur's cheek that he'd added that morning to the half-completed sketch on his table. "You're not real. You're a character I made up," he says, and tucks his face into Arthur's shoulder while Arthur strokes his hair.

"I can be real, if you remember," Arthur says then, as he does every night. Merlin holds on to the hopeful note in his gentle delusion's voice, closes his eyes and lets sleep take him to morning, when he will be sane and alone again. 

* * *

 

**25**

"Will there be anything else, my lady?"

Morgana's silent behind her screen; silk whispers over her bare skin as she slips into a dressing gown and she sighs in a soft, thoughtful way. "No, I don't think so, Gwen. You can leave now."

Gwen waits until Morgana steps from behind the screen, curtseys, and leaves her lady's chambers, locking the door behind her.

Gwen knows, without having been told, that the key is enchanted. When she locks the door it glows for her, as if pleased, and the weight and shape of it in her hand is perfect, as if it were made for only her to use while her lady bathes.

That had been the stipulation Morgana made when she agreed to come to Camelot: that she be left alone on Saturday nights. Uther had thought Vivienne ridiculous to indulge her daughter's request, but the union between Camelot and Cornwall was too valuable for him to argue.

The king intends to marry Morgana to marry Prince Arthur, but Gwen knows Uther's secret, too. She remembers how he commanded her to hand him the key, how he took it from her when she refused, and how the key refused to unlock Morgana's chambers for him.

*

Most Saturday nights, Gwen only hears the soft plash of water and the padding of footsteps inside Morgana's room.

Some nights, however, she hears Morgana hum a wandering, wordless tune that wraps itself around Gwen's senses, and she feels the water as it sluices over Morgana's body, between her breasts and over her arms; she smells the lavender scented steam and taste the salty tang of Morgana's skin.

Later, when she's in her own small room, Gwen recalls a few of the notes and she wraps them around herself until she flushes with arousal. Her own fingers on her breasts and between her thighs make her sigh with pleasure, and the need for her lady's touch.

*

"You can leave now, Gwen," Morgana says again a few weeks later, and skims her fingers down Gwen's arm to touch the hand that holds the key to her chambers. "Or you can stay, if you like."

"Oh. I shouldn't -- I mean, I would like, but…" Gwen bites her lip and looks at the door. "Who would watch for you? For us?"

Morgana clasps both her hands around Gwen's and smiles when the key warms. "Lock the door from the inside. It'll work, but only for you."

Morgana's words warm Gwen, like her songs and her secrets that she shares without telling. Her arms wrap around Gwen from behind once the door is locked and kisses the nape of Gwen's neck.

"Tonight, I'll undress you, and do what you bid, as you've always done for me."

"Will you show me…" Gwen's head tips back onto Morgana's shoulder and she sighs as Morgana cups her breasts, palms them through Gwen's dress until her nipples tighten.

"Yes, of course. Aren't my secrets yours already?"

She waits until she's pushed Gwen's dress off her shoulders, until she's mouthed her breasts and stomach through the thin shift, and until she's pressed her hand to Gwen's mound and slipped her fingers between her thighs into the damp heat there.

Morgana leaves Gwen needy, wet and wanting, when she tugs Gwen to the bath. "No," Gwen says on a quickening breath, then, "Show me."

The water glows sea-blue and green when Morgana steps into it and with a splash she reveals her body transformed: more beautiful, more elegant than any of the illustrations of sirens, serpents, or mermaids that Gwen has seen in bestiary pages.

Morgana's mouth curves into an uncertain frown as Gwen stares, but Gwen gives her no chance to rescind her offer.

"Keep touching me." Gwen slips into the bath and slides the length of her body against Morgana's, laughing as their breasts brush and Morgana's tail flicks around her ankles. She runs her hand over the green-blue-gold scales that cover Morgana's lower body and presses in even closer to feel the slippery catch of them against the skin of her stomach.

"Touch me everywhere." Gwen hooks one leg around Morgana first to keep her from slipping away, then to rub her clit against the smooth scales.

And Morgana does, touching Gwen and winding around her, serpentine, until there are nor more secrets between them. 

* * *

 

**26**

Blinking as he got his bearings, Arthur stumbled against something that upon closer inspection appeared to be . . . his sofa? Seconds ago he’d been in a dirty bathroom stall in a club about to be fucked by a guy with a tongue ring, and now he was back in his apartment, drunk and disoriented. He steadied himself, stiffening when a melodic voice from behind him said, “I’ll just be going now.”

Arthur wheeled around. A gorgeous, dark-haired man stood not five feet away, his pale skin offset almost to translucence by his black suit. He arched an eyebrow as Arthur regarded him, speechless. There was something familiar about him Arthur couldn’t quite place.

“Who the hell are you?” Arthur demanded. “What happened?”

The man stepped forward, so close they were almost touching. His whisper was like a caress. “That man wasn’t clean. Suffice it to say, you’re meant for bigger things, Arthur Pendragon.”

His words shocked Arthur almost to sobriety. “You supposed to be my guardian angel?”

When the man smiled, Arthur’s pulse started to race. He smelled like all of the good things in the world, and his face was so beautiful it didn’t even occur to Arthur to be afraid.

“Something like that.”

~*~

“I must be dreaming.” Arthur’s voice trembled with adrenaline. He’d been standing in an alley with a mugger’s gun to his temple when suddenly everything had gone hazy, then black. Now he was sitting at his kitchen table being served a cuppa by a hallucination. Surely there weren’t shimmering wings sprouting from the man’s back.

“You’re not,” said his angel, shrugging. “But you may believe what you like.” Today he was wearing white. He moved through Arthur’s flat with disconcerting ease.

“Why do you keep saving me? Who are you?”

The angel’s expression was tinged with inexplicable sadness. “My name is Merlin.”

~*~

When Merlin didn’t appear for weeks, months, Arthur missed him. He considered getting into life-threatening scraps just to see him again.

At night he dreamed of all of the good things in the world.

~*~

“Merlin?” Arthur gasped, addressing the angel next to his bed. “Was I about to die in my sleep or something?”

“No. I just couldn’t stay away.” The confession was unusually shy.

“Is this, um . . . regular protocol?” Arthur asked as Merlin sat beside him, watching with hungry eyes.

“Not really.”

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat as Merlin leaned in and kissed him. The arousal was instant and fierce, a riot through his body that made his back arch and his cock harden. Merlin’s lips were soft; they felt human, but everything else was more. A sweet tongue entered his mouth and stroked against his, hands knew just how and where to touch. They deftly undressed him, and then Merlin was moving over him, naked and glorious, his wings stretching behind in a golden display of shimmering feathers. Every nerve ending in Arthur’s body vibrated with tension as they slid together, the room filled with strange electricity. He groaned and canted his hips.

“Do you want this?” Merlin’s perfect face grew serious as he gazed down at Arthur.

“You know I do. I dream . . .”

He lifted a shaking hand and touched a wing, felt the strength and the softest, smoothest feathers. Merlin shuddered at the contact, closing his eyes as he dipped for another kiss. This one was harder—claiming—and made Arthur ache. He lifted his legs and moaned when Merlin pressed a finger against him, his muscles softening as though he’d gone molten. Absently, he wondered if he could die of lust, and if so, who would save him.

When Merlin finally pushed inside, Arthur started to come. He pulsed against his belly as Merlin moved with long, powerful strokes. The orgasm drew on and on, not a release so much as an ever-building pleasure, like being on fire without burning, without pain. He could only gather Merlin to him, letting him do it, fuck him, his own body clenching rhythmically, delirious with the force of it.

Merlin shone with an impossible brilliance as his control shattered; he released deep inside, the suffuse warmth triggering a final racking climax in Arthur, cock spurting again. Still he wanted more.

“That’s it, love,” Merlin whispered.

Boneless and weightless, Arthur suddenly realised he was floating, clutched tightly in Merlin’s arms, cocooned within his wings. 

Merlin kissed him and smiled, glowing softer now.

It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t be. 

* * *

 

**27**

In Your Arms I Find Salvation

Merlin is answering Gwen's caps locked text when he runs over Arthur Pendragon.

-

Their first meeting is like this.

 

"You could have told me you were dead."

"You shouldn't have been texting while driving."

-

Merlin doesn't know what he's supposed to do with Arthur, whether he's to help him pass on or if he's still high from the weed Gwaine sold him and Arthur is just a fantastic hallucination.

"Do you smoke often," Arthur asks in his rich boy voice. The kind that makes Merlin feel like a peasant even when Arthur's the one wearing rags.

" _I died in battle_ ," Arthur had explained.

Merlin's head feels heavy and he sprawls out on his couch. He takes a pull from the joint Gwaine passed him after Merlin tried to explain why he'd been late to the party that night. Merlin doesn't think he needs it. Gwaine's the one who believes in aliens.

Arthur is still there.

"No," Merlin says and he thinks he's answering a question.

Arthur laughs.

-

Their first month goes like this.

 

"So, you died over a hundred years ago?"

"Yes, _Mer_ lin. We've been over this already. And before you ask, no, I don't remember anything."

-

And their second.

 

"What exactly is that supposed to be, Merlin? It looks like what I used to feed my dog."

"It's called tofu and stop whining."

"I do _not_ whine."

"It's not like you can eat it anyway."

"I heard that."

-

Their third.

 

"How's Hunith doing?"

"Better."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I never knew my mum."

-  
On their fourth month of Arthur following Merlin around, Merlin dreams.

Arthur is standing by the window in Merlin's bedroom. Merlin can see the particles of dust illuminated by the sun as they float through Arthur. Merlin's used to Arthur standing by the window, his eyes far away as he looks at something only he can see.

Merlin gets up like always, intent on talking to Arthur until he's distracted enough to forget. When Merlin reaches the window, the temperature drops as it always does when Arthur is near, a permanent reminder that he is dead, but not gone. Merlin's hand is out before he remembers that he hasn't ever been able to touch Arthur. He's surprised when his fingers touch a broad shoulder, solid and warm.

That's how Merlin knows he's dreaming.

"What are you looking at," Merlin asks.

Arthur turns and Merlin won't, _can't_ move his hand. He wants to touch his fill, run his fingers through Arthur's hair, kiss him, suck him.

"Merlin," Arthur says and his voice is broken, hoarse, defeated.

It rocks Merlin to the very core.

"Arthur," he answers.

Then they're kissing, tongues sliding against each other. Arthur kisses the way he broods, with everything he has and with regard to nothing else. Merlin's hands are restless, fingers fanning out behind Arthur's head to _feel_. Merlin presses Arthur down into the sheets on the bed and memorizes.

Arthur tastes like mint toothpaste when Merlin kisses him.

Arthur's eyes go wide and glassy, dark blue, when Merlin slides his mouth over Arthur's cock.

Arthur's moans are short, his breathing ragged when he fucks Merlin into the sheets.

He smells like soap and grass and something else that Merlin doesn't recognize and is familiar all the same. Merlin touches every inch of Arthur he can, closes his eyes and let's his senses take over. He doesn’t know how long they have and he wants to remember.

He _needs_ to remember.

-

When Merlin wakes up Arthur is floating by the foot of his bed looking smug.

"You talk in your sleep," Arthur says.

"What," Merlin answers and he can already feel the heat on his face.

"You called my name," and there's an odd lilt to Arthur's voice.

Merlin reaches out and Arthur moves to meet his hand halfway.

The ache in Merlin's chest intensifies when his hands goes right through.

-

Their last month together goes like this.

 

"Do you think there's anything after?"

"I don't know, Merlin."

"I think there is."

"Of course _you_ would."

"No, really, I do. Know what else?"

"What?"

Merlin turns, the smile on his face the same one that has been keeping Arthur grounded for months and still does. "I think you do too."

Arthur shakes his head but he can't help the smile that breaks across his face even as he turns. 

* * *

 

**28**

Mithian frowns. “You seriously don’t understand anything.”

“Well, you haven’t given me much of a chance, have you?” Elena says, stepping a little closer to the bed. 

Mithian is tense, her arms crossed over her chest as she leans back against the pillows. Her face looks sharp in anger, her usual softness gone, but it’s still beautiful in an unfamiliar way. Elena has always been struck dumb by how gorgeous Mithian is and it’s always been impractical considering Mithian is Gwaine’s flat-mate and Gwaine is Elena’s best mate. It’s been hard to ignore just how weak-kneed Mithian makes her.

“Fine.” Mithian pushes herself up to rest on her knees on the bed. “If you think you can handle it, I’ll help you _understand_.” She hooks her fingers under the hem of her shirt and pulls it up.

Elena squeaks a little, reaching out to stop her, but freezes in place when she sees the planes of smooth skin being revealed and her cheeks flush.

Tossing her t-shirt to the side, Mithian meets Elena’s eyes and tilts her chin up slightly as she reaches up to unhook her bra, letting it slide down her arms before she drops it on the floor. For a moment Elena just stares at her (fucking fantastic) breasts as her pulse rises to an almost unbearable level. Then she has to steady herself against the bedpost when wings unfold from Mithian’s back. They stretch outwards, shimmering slightly under the light from the windows looking like finely spun and nearly translucent cobwebs.

“Holy shit,” Elena blurts as the wings sway slightly. “Holy _fucking_ shit.”

“Yeah,” Mithian says her eyes downcast. “I’m sure you _understand_.”

Elena’s heart breaks a little at the shame written across her face and rushes forwards, knocking her knees into the side of the bed, nearly tumbling into it.

“Mithian,” she says urgently, “they’re gorgeous. They’re perfect. They… you’re...” She stops, swallowing. How do you say to someone that you’ve wanted them for so long that you’d have them even if they were part warthog?

Mithian’s eyes are wide and searching when she looks up and Elena holds her breath. Suddenly her face softens, the tight line of her mouth relaxing, and the look is so familiar that Elena’s heart aches.

“Go on,” she says, her voice a bit unsteady. “Touch them.”

Her breath hitching, Elena reaches out lets her fingers brush across the right wing, her lips parting on a huff of breath as she feels the silky substance against her fingertip. It’s almost like liquid, but not quite, and she shudders at how they feel against her skin – it’s like nothing Elena’s ever felt before. The moan is out before she can catch herself and she feels Mithian tense.

Mithian’s eyes suddenly burn golden and Elena finds herself pushed back across the room, the back of her knees hitting the edge of a chair before she’s pressed into it.

“Does the magical freak turn you on?” Mithian says her voice bitter as she moves closer, falling to her knees in front of the chair.

Elena wants to answer. She wants to tell Mithian that ‘yes, you turn me on’ and ‘no, you’re not a freak,’ but then she feels a warm pressure against her wrists, locking them together behind the chair. When she realises that Mithian has magically bound her, she arches her back and whimpers in response.

Settling between her legs, Mithian runs a hand across Elena’s inner thigh, making her twitch under the touch. When Mithian suddenly slips under her skirt and rubs her roughly through her knickers, Elena pushes back into it, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. The wings brush softly across the inside of her thighs and Elena thinks she might just come right there.

Their eyes meet and Mithian’s burn gold again until Elena’s clothes disappear out of nowhere and the bonds on her wrists tighten even further. She can feel the stretch in her shoulder blades.

“Wow, this freak thing really gets you going.” Mithian sounds removed, almost cold, and Elena recoils.

“No,” she says, breathless. “It’s you. _You_ get me going. Always.”

Mithian looks up her face unreadable for a moment until she suddenly smiles softly. She leans forwards, and flicks her tongue tenderly over Elena’s folds, the bitterness and the anger in the movements disappearing completely. As she circles her tongue in maddening strokes with her fingers curling over Elena’s hips, Elena comes with a broken cry to the feeling of the wings fluttering against her thighs. 

* * *

 

**29**

David 8 is tall, handsome and chiseled with a strong jaw and a narrow waist.

David 9 is shorter and graced with bright blue eyes and a cheerful grin that makes up for the charm that his predecessor lacked.

Ash is an experiment.

In a company where the goal is to create artificial intelligence that is almost indistinguishable from mankind itself, he is a victory. But commercially, he is complete and utter failure because he falls prey to too-human things like addiction and sex.

Merlin's favorite story is one he hears about an Ash becoming addicted to pornography even though he was never designed to experience any kind of sexual gratification.

It is the year 2113 and Weyland Industries has officially designed and produced thirty-two different android models. What the world doesn't know is that in reality, Weyland Industries has made thirty-three.

This last unknown model is a triumph of engineering. He is beautiful; perfectly designed from his firm pecs to the microprocessors in his brain. Only one copy of the Arthur model exists in all the galaxy and that copy belongs to Weyland Industries CEO and designer Merlin Pendragon.

Officially, Merlin Pendragon is happily married to his husband of five years, has two dogs and is one of the ten richest men on Earth. What the world doesn't know is that Merlin's life is largely a farce of his own construction. The two dogs, Ripley and Shaw, are basic animal androids that Merlin made when he was seventeen. His husband, blonde and beloved by everyone at Weyland and beyond, is none other than Arthur Pendragon.

He is Merlin's magnum opus.

And unlike Ash and all who have come before him, Arthur _is_ programed to enjoy sexual gratification.

“Oh, fuck,” Merlin hisses as Arthur gets his hand down Merlin's pants. His hand is warm and soft and slides over Merlin's cock with the smooth, wonderful glide of artificial spit and skin. His laugh is cheeky in Merlin's ear, amused at the mumbled protestations that keep falling from Merlin's lips. Merlin programmed him to be like this: to be annoying and playful and a little pushy because what would be the fun otherwise? An Arthur who stood quietly and followed his orders would be no better than a manservant.

Arthur looks ravishing in a tuxedo and Merlin has been sneaking covert glances all night as they drifted around the party, chatting with investors and promising new scientists alike. But then Arthur had pushed him off into a side room with a hot look and a dark grin.

He wraps arms around Arthur's shoulders as Arthur lifts his hips onto the edge of crate, strength just enough that the action seems effortless, but not so much that it seems inhuman; Merlin programmed that too.

“Hold still,” Arthur whispers and bites his ear as Merlin squirms under roaming hands that have somehow found their way under his shirt. Arthur manages to get his trousers down as well and it's sort of hilarious to Merlin that an android he programmed is extremely skilled at undressing him.

Merlin giggles as Arthur's breath tickles down the side of his neck, and then he arches and moans beautifully as Arthur spreads his legs and presses two spit-slick fingers into him.

He leans back against the wall, and wraps his legs around Arthur's hips, body a long, lithe line of muscle. Maybe it's hubris, but he's rather proud of the way that Arthur's pupils dilate just a little at the sight of him and the way Arthur makes a soft sound something like a whimper.

Then Arthur goes down on his knees and dammit, he's going to get his tux dirty and Merlin wants to chide him for it. But then Arthur's mouth is descending over his prick and it's slick, tight and wonderful and Merlin never bothered to program a gag reflex so he's able to take everything Merlin has to offer without complaint.

Arthur curls his fingers just so, and start to twist and rub and thrust in a maddening combination that forces Merlin to bite down hard on his lip to stifle a cry. He twitches under Arthur's hands, hips rocking up of their own accord and he finds himself fucking Arthur's mouth with short, staccato bursts. Arthur doesn't seem to mind, if anything he's digging fingers harder into Merlin's hips and making quiet, desperate sounds like he wants it. So Merlin gives it to him, and when he comes hard, breath stuttering in sharp gasps, he's almost able to forget for a moment that Arthur isn't real. 

* * *

 

**30**

Merlin often believed his life would have been easier if he’d never met his boss.

Arthur Pendragon was a man who appeared cold on the surface and seemingly wanted for nothing, keeping his emotions fiercely in check. He had tells, though, that gave away the real him, from giving someone the day off if needed to remembering everyone’s birthdays.

But underneath all of that, his desires ran wild: freedom from his oppressive father, a better relationship with his half-sister, for his mother to still be alive.

And for a Djinn, whose very nature _ached_ to grant wishes, it was torture. Normally, Merlin was good at ignoring the wants of humans; hadn’t used his ability in years, in fact, but the stronger the wish, the more compelled Merlin felt to try and help—and Arthur’s were extremely strong.

Merlin’s powers were activated by touch, which made things difficult considering Arthur was a tactile person and kept brushing against him, or slinging an arm around him.

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Merlin could simply do what a person wanted with a snap of his fingers, like his kind were portrayed in stories. Maybe once upon a time they had been able to, but present day Djinn were limited to granting wishes in dreams alone—by putting the human in question into a coma-like state.

So few of them ever woke up after that. They were happier living in the dream.

Merlin had never dared used his powers again since he’d accidentally ( _hadn’tbeenabletoresistdidn’twanttoresisthowcouldhehavebeensostupid_ ) granted his best friend’s wish when they were teenagers.

Will still hadn’t woken up.

He had tried to move on, tried to live a normal human life, but that had been before he met Arthur.

Merlin rolled over onto his side in bed, staring blankly at the wall. Being in love with his boss didn’t help matters, and he knew he was better off staying far away from him due to his abilities.

Despite that, Merlin couldn’t bring himself to leave. It wasn’t the right decision—but Merlin was a Djinn. They’d never been one for good decisions.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

*

Merlin pressed into Arthur slowly, carefully; or at least he tried to until Arthur’s legs wrapped around him and forced him in further.

“Come on, you big baby, I can take it, don’t treat me like _glass_.”

“But I don’t want to hurt—”

“If you were hurting me, I would say so, now move!”

It just figured that Arthur would be a bossy bottom, but well, Merlin wasn’t really complaining. He began moving quickly, knowing that Arthur would complain again if he tried being slow or gentle, and so Merlin simply thrust into him relentlessly, groaning when Arthur rolled his hips.

He was the first to come between them, apologies spilling off his lips, but Arthur simply tightened his grip, not letting Merlin pull out as he took himself in hand. It only took a few strokes before he was coming as well, and then he allowed Merlin to move, his legs falling back down onto the bed as Merlin stretched out next to him.

They were both filthy, but neither seemed to care, Merlin flinging his arm across Arthur and pulling him close, ignoring his sounds of discontent.

“Next time, I refuse to be the little spoon,” Arthur said.

“Fine, fine, just shut up and go to sleep now,” Merlin murmured fondly, already drifting off.

*

Merlin woke to sticky sheets and a deep feeling of shame—and an even deeper feeling of regret and loss as he realised Arthur wasn’t actually there beside him. Djinn could only grant the wishes of humans; not other Djinn, and certainly not their own. He’d tried to avoid dreaming of Arthur, because that was all it could ever be, a dream.

While aware, he could fight against his abilities, but even if by some miracle him and Arthur got together, they could never actually _be_ together. If they ever had sex, Merlin would lose control and grant Arthur’s wish whether he meant to or not, and he had no way of knowing if Arthur would ever wake up.

Merlin wished, ironically, that he _could_ grant his own wishes. Then at least he’d _have_ the dream.

 

Months later, when Merlin passed Arthur at work, he suddenly felt another desire that he’d never sensed before—a desire for _him_.

And that, Merlin decided, was probably the worst thing of all. 

* * *

 

**31**

Suspicions were rising about his sudden trips alone. Most assumed it was due to the added pressures of becoming King. A few saw the relief in his eyes, the curve of his lips even in the moments before he departed for his little adventures.

"Bend to me." The voice would command and Arthur's body moved in a slow arch. Nothing too languid, nothing even close or resembling to a dancer's grace. He simply followed the smooth command. Hips forward, fingers dug deep into the sturdy flesh that supported him, guided him. With his head up to the sky and his cock easily finding that familiar divot of tight slick skin, Arthur let out his first moan of the night.

No one would understand why he did this, who he was with. Most would think him mad for it, take away his crown, but to give up the soft tendrils of daylight or the fiercely haunting guidance of the moon...no, he never would. This was his. Naked and nearly alone, but never alone, surrounded by him, it, and everything.

More friction against his inner thighs. They were being spread for him earlier than usual, made sticky and damp with nectarous dew.

"I need to be inside you tonight."

Arthur hummed his approval at the thought.

The sweat of his lover always covered him, marked what the king had been doing for hours on end, grinding his pain and soul away against the fertile body of something that could only be known as alive. He spread his legs further apart with both of his knees snuggly on either side of his lover's cool body.

A delicate touch lingered with an effortless tease between his cheeks. The small puckered opening swirled with the rustling leaves around him.

"Please take me." Arthur pleaded.

"I can not take what has always been mine, but I will remind you of whom you belong to whenever you need." The voice spoke deep from the earth. Through root and vines it consumed as much as it revived everything around them.

Arthur rutted his body slower still, enough to rejoice in this moment and forget all other troubles existence brought. Tight wet suction pulled him deeper into the perfect groove. Down his arm, twisting his nipple, over the ripple of his exposed stomach, additional strands wove their way till they coiled around his length staving off the inevitable.

"Let me cum soon. I need to be part of you." Arthur groaned out before he bucked his hips. 

A light fingered insertion of this expert sanity thief had Arthur twisting in a struggle to fuck himself further. He knew he didn't have to. The branch would grow and fill him like all erections. It would pulse with needs of it's own.

"Once and future King, you are always part of me." the voice whispered in Arthur's ears like a drug.

Arthur's back knotted to the sensations, his arse clenched around the ever growing staff. longer and wider it stretched and prodded before it finally moved. Each thrust pushed Arthur deeper into his lover's body, enveloping him in pleasure. Every surface tingled and glistened with... "Ohhhh, yes. More." Arthur panted, finally giving all his mind and body to the moment.

_________

 

There was no way Merlin would ever tell. Druid ancestors long ago knew the ways of it. It was even by accident that it happened at all. And then one day his king found him and needed him in ways he could never provide if he was in any other form. Pride and duty would get in the way of what they felt, but here in the woods, among his people. Merlin could comfort the man he loved. Provide that which he needed most and stay safely hidden as his tree of life. 

* * *

 

**32**

 

Merlin wakes to the smell of blood. There are blood splatters on the wall in front of him, and when he jolts upright he sees the blood seeping across the sheets.

"Arthur, Arthur, we need to get out of here," he says, reaching out to shake Arthur's shoulder; Arthur's skin is cold to the touch.

"No. No. No no no." Merlin gets on his knees, not caring about the blood smearing his naked skin. Arthur can't be. He can't be.

But there are long, deep marks across his neck and down his chest. Merlin's vision starts to blur and he thinks he must be saying something, whispering spells or curses or anything to make Arthur start moving again, but Arthur refuses to so much as blink.

_He's dead._

Merlin whips around to face the intruder, readying spells that he knows will have no effect.

Mordred stands there, face completely blank, as always. His golden eyes are slit thin like a cat's, and his tapered ears twitch lightly. _This is your own fault_ , Mordred whispers into his mind, _for ignoring the pact_.

Merlin feels heat burning up his arms, and when he looks down the curse marks -- the contract -- is writ across his skin. It's traveling further up, across his shoulders, lighting up his neck and seeping into his mind.

"This wasn't what I asked for," he pleads; he claws at his skull to try to stop the words from sinking in too deep, but it does nothing.

_You wanted power. I gave you power. In exchange, your body and soul were mine._

Mordred's words reverberate inside Merlin's mind, and already he can feel himself losing pieces of himself. Mordred crosses the short distance between them and places his hands on Merlin's shoulders, pushes him down onto the blood-stained sheets. The blood is already cold, and Merlin thinks that it will crust across his back.

"I don't share," Mordred whispers, the first words he has spoken to Merlin since that day they formed the pact. "Every last piece of you is mine."

The first kiss is gentle, reverent. Mordred doesn't pry his lips open, just presses their mouths together. He moves on to kiss Merlin's neck, shoulders, arms; when he reaches Merlin's palm, Merlin shudders. Arthur had kissed him like this, just a few hours ago.

 _Stop thinking about him_. Mordred bites Merlin's wrist and draws blood, the pain sharp and driving out stray thoughts.

It gets harder and harder to remember that this isn't what he wants. Merlin scrambles for resistance, but whenever he thinks he might be able to struggle, Mordred fixes his gaze on Merlin and a strange, calming wave washes over him. Merlin reaches for something to ground him, and comes in contact with clammy skin.

He holds on to that -- Arthur's cold wrist -- as Mordred licks at his hole with his forked tongue. Merlin digs his nails into Arthur's flesh when hot fingers breach him, and he turns to face glazed eyes when those fingers are replaced by Mordred's cock.

 _Don't cry_ , Mordred whispers, I'm going to make you feel good. I take care of my toys.

Merlin's tears dry, but even as the pleasure rises in him, all he can think about is how the blood under his nails will never be warm again. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

\--

"I need power," Merlin says, "To protect those I love."

The demon stares at him with deceptively innocent eyes. _All right. But in return, you belong to me._

"Yes. I accept."

The demon steps close and kisses Merlin, lets power flow into him. Magic thrums through Merlin's veins, more power than he'd ever thought possible.

Now he'll be able to protect Arthur. 

* * *

 

**33**

The breeze from the open window ruffles Arthur's hair, sends him burrowing further under the covers in his sleep, and Merlin swats it away as he might a fly – snatches the cold from the gaps in Arthur's blankets where it would wake him if left to its own devices.

He lifts off from his place on the sill, mindful of the ceiling fan, turns in midair and brings the window down as silently as possible. It creaks, but Arthur just lets out a quiet snore, lips slightly parted on the exhale.

The moonlight's a tad bright where it falls across Arthur's bed, so Merlin waves a hand and lets the curtains swing shut as well. He dampens the electronic sounds of someone else awake in the house and silences the passing of a car before checking the lock on the door, making sure it's clicked into place and not budging. And when it's not, he thickens a pocket of air scant inches above Arthur's lazy sprawl, settles himself into it and lets his arms hang down where he can feel the heat of this boy.

He allows himself to fall drowsy then, syncing up with Arthur's mind, and feels it when he slips past his weakened defenses, slides into the warmth Arthur's already managed to create on his own.

He never gets it quite right, though.

Humans.

Everything's a shade too vibrant inside the dream space, too loud to be calming, so Merlin snaps his fingers and quiets the din, softens the reds and blues and brings down the lights until his eyes go half-lidded, affected by the atmosphere, and then -

“You're here, aren't you?”

Arthur's voice comes as though from far off, low and hoarse, but he's only a few feet away when Merlin turns, lain out on his back, pretty knees parted as far as they will go while another Merlin works between them – sucking noises leaving no doubt as to what he's up to.

Merlin's cock gives a heady throb at the sight. A wide, stupid grin spreads across his lips and then he's leaping where he stands, diving through the air to land at Arthur's side with a quiet thump.

“Getting started without me?” he asks, slow and hot. He presses the words into the damp skin at Arthur's temple, mouths down along his cheekbone and slides one hand alongside Arthur's into the hair of his double, grips at the dark strands and makes him bob faster on Arthur's cock.

“Depends how you look,” Arthur slurs back, fingering one of the double's pointed ears. He leans forward and takes Merlin's mouth then, opens him up and slicks his tongue inside, underneath Merlin's and then above, licking at his teeth.

It makes Merlin's prick twitch the way Arthur just goes for it – has always just gone for it from the first time they did this together, both younglings, big-eyed and still skinny-limbed.

He hums into Arthur's mouth, lets go of the double and shakes his head when Arthur breathes out a question, asks -

“D'you want me to send him -”

“No,” Merlin whispers, moving further down Arthur's body, turning him on his side with a guiding hand to his hip. “We'll keep him.”

The double goes with the movement, sucking at Arthur's bollocks and further behind them, sighing out contented sentiment Merlin understands entirely as he himself sucks kisses along Arthur's spine, settles into place low, lower until he's lightly nosing along the crevice of Arthur's arse, just breathing, tangling legs with the double for comfort.

It's so good like this, drowning in warmth and Arthur, that Merlin could close his eyes and sleep here, drift to the sounds of Arthur being sucked off, but he licks a long, hot line from top to bottom, smiles at Arthur's gasp and accepts the already provided slickness, presses further between Arthur's thighs and meets the double's tongue with a soft, wet lick across Arthur's perineum.

“Jesus fuck -” Arthur grits out, swiveling his hips in an involuntary downward movement.

Merlin takes hold of his leg and pushes until Arthur gets the hint and holds it up, spreads open and flushes all down his chest, swallowing around choked words.

And by the gods, _this_ – this is why Merlin loves his job. 

* * *

 

**34**

This was not how Arthur wanted Merlin to find out. He’d wanted to ease Merlin into it -- drinks at the pub, a quiet night at Arthur’s flat -- both of them relaxed and easy. Too bad it wasn’t going to happen that way.

When an inhuman howl split the air in the alley below Arthur’s balcony, followed by a very familiar voice crying out in fear, Arthur knew he had to act. Especially since it was _Merlin_ in the alley, trapped by the giant winged cat that had been attacking people in the area. 

Without a thought, Arthur jumped from his fifth floor balcony, his shirt ripping as his wings snapped free, and dove for the cat. Striking the bastet in the back, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled them both, landing on his back and throwing her as far from Merlin as he could.

He heard Merlin gasp behind him, but he ignored his friend in favor of keeping an eye on the cat. Arthur felt his fingernails lengthen into claws and his fangs descend, ready for battle. Crouching in front of Merlin, he growled loud and low, warning the bastet away and praying to any god that would listen that she wouldn’t push the issue. Arthur didn’t want to hurt her, fearing that she suffered under a stronger version of the same curse that afflicted him.

The bastet paced back and forth across the front of the alley, assessing Arthur. Suddenly, she crouched down, gathering herself to pounce. Arthur’s muscles tensed in anticipation, and he stood, readying himself to meet her.

She never left the ground. Before either of them could move, a golden whip of light shot out from behind Arthur, striking the bastet across the nose. It was followed by a wall of magic so strong, it swept her off her feet. Scrambling back, she fled into the night. 

Arthur turned and faced Merlin. “You couldn’t do that _before_ I risked life and limb?” he asked, exasperated. “What are you even _doing_ here, anyway?” His wings fluttered nervously, waiting for some kind of reaction.

Merlin just stared at him, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He blinked. Then blinked again. “Arthur?” he asked uncertainly.

Anger coursed through Arthur, and he bowed his head. After all their time together, after Arthur had been so accepting of Merlin’s own magic. It was all over. Arthur would lose --

A gentle hand on his wing startled him, and he opened his eyes to see Merlin, his expression one of wonder and not the revulsion Arthur had expected.

“Merlin?”

“Beautiful,” Merlin breathed, tentatively stroking his hand up and over the joint of Arthur’s wing, making Arthur shiver and gasp. No one had ever touched him like that. He’d never allowed it.

"Merlin, I--"

"Let me see," Merlin whispered. "In the light. I want to see you."

“I --”

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, and Arthur found himself in the middle of his bedroom, a bare step backwards from the bed.

“I had wondered,” Merlin said, reaching out and running his hand from shoulder to wrist bone. “I wondered when you would get around to telling me about this.” 

Startled, Arthur didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Every stroke of Merlin’s hand, every soft caress across his feathers went straight to his cock. Merlin stepped closer, dragging his fingers over Arthur’s shoulder and down his chest. “Or,” he whispered, his voice a low husk. “About this.” And he sealed his lips over Arthur’s.

Arthur inhaled sharply, pulling Merlin in as close as he could and returning the kiss. When Merlin slotted his leg between his thighs and rubbed hard, Arthur couldn’t help but buck up into the pressure, moaning his pleasure. Their kisses became frantic, desperate and needy; and Merlin’s hands never stopped moving, stroking down his sides, caressing his shoulders, and running almost reverently through golden feathers.

Every pass of those elegant fingers through Arthur’s plumage caused an answering buck to Arthur’s hips. It didn’t take long for Merlin to notice. He chuckled darkly and concentrated his efforts, petting and stroking from wrist to shoulder and down to where wing met flesh, Merlin toyed with the feathers.

All the while, Arthur writhed and rubbed against Merlin, unable to contain his gasps and moans, losing himself to the pleasure of Merlin’s touch. Then Merlin’s hands were on his arse, pulling in hard as he ground hard; and Arthur was coming into his pants as his whole world washed white and gold. 

* * *

 

**35**

There once lived a man named Arthur with very skillful hands, and with them he crafted the most wondrous toys. He lived alone in a tiny cottage in a small village, near the town square where he performed puppet shows. Audiences marveled at the liveliness of his creations.

Of all of his many figures, none were more wondrous or lively than George.

“George,” Arthur would often say, “You are an excellent puppet, but not the most stimulating company.” And he would smile, and George would agree this was very funny, even if he did not understand why.

*\/*\/*\/*

One evening, after a rousing performance honouring his sister’s engagement, Arthur made his usual compliment to George. He smiled, but then he looked down at his hands. “Perhaps I should make you a friend,” he said.

George saw nothing strange in this. A good puppet required only an audience, but there was no reason a friend couldn’t be both.

*\/*\/*\/*

George eyeballed his friend. He was much too large for strings, his face unpainted and unpolished. Arthur named him Merlin, blowing wood shavings from the whorl of one oversized ear.

“Hello,” Merlin said.

“Hello,” George replied.

“Pardon me for asking,” Merlin said, “but are you a real boy?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” George said.

“Arthur said he should like me to be a real boy, but I don’t know how one becomes real.”

George understood wanting to be satisfactory. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I could teach you to be a puppet? It is the purpose for which I was made,” he added proudly.

“Oh,” said Merlin, unperturbed. “No thanks. I’ll just keep looking for a way.”

Well. Merlin was hardly puppet material anyway.

*\/*\/*\/*

Merlin was grotesque with reality. Arthur had even fashioned for him human genitalia, hooked between the long, pale birch of his legs.

George didn’t say anything. There was no call to be impolite.

“I spoke to the old mannequin,” Merlin confided. “She said love is the only way to become real. Isn’t it exciting? Now I simply have to find some!”

George felt like a splinter had broken off inside his chest. “You should focus on what you were created for,” he said. “There is no greater satisfaction than a job well-done, or a purpose well-fulfilled.”

Merlin’s indulgent smile left George feeling desperate and bereft. He didn’t _understand_.

*\/*\/*\/*

“Do you think this is it?” Merlin called from the bed. “Is this love?”

Arthur had unhooked the first phallus and replaced it with another — this one erect, polished to a dark, cherry glow. Merlin made intrigued noises as Arthur greased the shaft with shaking fingers, his face aflame.

“I can almost feel it!” Merlin said as Arthur sank onto him. George wished he could look away. Arthur moved gingerly, cautious and flinching.

Slowly, his fingers unclenched from his bedsheets. Slowly, he began to rock over Merlin. His mouth fell open; his eyes widened. Just visible between them, his human phallus began to jump and twitch with his movement, as if controlled by its own string. George ached hearing Arthur’s urgent panting, his short, whining exhales. The splinter of unease within him became a stake when Arthur suddenly stilled, eyes shut tight and mouth open wide, spilling thick white threads onto Merlin’s middle.

“Oh,” Merlin said when Arthur stumbled off of him. He hiccupped a soft sound when Arthur unhooked his erect phallus and threw it into the fire, but said no more.

*\/*\/*\/*

Arthur continued to climb on top of Merlin, as if he could not help himself, and each time discarded his own work afterwards, face buried in his hands.

Merlin’s wood began to soften, deepening in color with patina. Sometimes, when Arthur rode him desperately, Merlin’s long fingers would twitch.

George would not speak to him anymore. He’d begun to collect dust on his shelf.

*\/*\/*\/*

George did not think he could feel more pale, more tinder dry, until the day Arthur fell to his knees before Merlin. He was drunk, wet-eyed and clumsy, unsurprised when Merlin’s wooden palm moved haltingly to cup his cheek.

With difficulty, Merlin bent, joints creaking as he tipped his mouth to Arthur’s.

George watched the color spread, blood-flush replacing wood grain as Merlin’s lips softened and opened against Arthur’s, gasping. He pushed Arthur to the floor with living strength while Arthur’s hands gripped the softness of his rump, his belly, catching his laughing face and thumbing his ears. Ecstatic.

George watched, not finding their display funny at all, because he didn’t understand.

* * *

**36**

In the end, he found Merlin in a seedy motel at the crossing of two leylines. The dirty, ramshackle exterior made Arthur's skin crawl -- but when he stepped over the threshold, he wasn't surprised to enter a well-appointed Holiday Inn Express. Merlin never could go entirely without his creature comforts.

As he exited the lift, an ancient man was hobbling out of the nearest room. "Good day to you, sir," he quavered.

Arthur nodded and held the doors. Then, as the old man tried to slip past without touching him, Arthur's hand shot out and seized his arm.

Instantly the man fought, but Arthur was ready and hung on until he could burrow his hand under the loose sleeve and close his fingers around the wizened arm. As soon as skin touched skin, magic flared through him, bringing a powerful arousal.

The old man's robes fluttered as though a gust of wind had howled down the corridor. When it faded, Arthur was holding onto a young man in a simple t-shirt and jeans.

Arthur grinned into beloved eyes. "Hello, love."

Merlin scowled at him and tried to pull his arm away. Arthur kept his grip easy but firm; as long as he touched Merlin's skin, nothing could part them. As soon as he consummated their fragile union, nothing would ever part them again.

"What are you doing here, Arthur?"

"I'm here to claim you, obviously."

Merlin scoffed. "You can't claim me. You agreed to wed a human woman, remember?"

"I sent her away," he said and grinned at the look of shock on Merlin's face. "What woman could compare to the Son of the Sea?"

Merlin erupted into a flurry of feathers, but Arthur pulled the flapping owl down and hugged it to his chest with pure joy. Transformation meant Merlin was playing. Merlin would be bound, if Arthur was strong enough to bind him.

In his haste to escape, Merlin had left the door to his room ajar. Arthur strode in and kicked the door closed behind him before flinging himself to the bed with his armful of squirming feathers.

Panting, Merlin resumed his most human form as they hit the mattress. Arthur rolled over on top of him, and he frowned up at Arthur, weighing him.

Arthur bent to kiss him and recoiled at the putrid stench that blew in his face."If you're lying, you'll fail," the hideous troll said.

"I am bound to no one but you." The best thing about the troll was that its shredded clothing was easy to strip away.

"Not to me yet." The troll's snarl turned to a hiss--then fired seared Arthur's face. He recoiled by instinct; for one terrifying instant, he almost lost his hold. Then he laughed. Dragon fire couldn't hurt him.

He seized the great serpentine head and pressed a kiss to it before the dragon coiled around him. Arthur writhed in its grip, gasping in pleasure as the hot scales burned away his clothing. "It's like you're not even trying, Merlin."

Merlin hissed and thrashed, twisting around Arthur's naked body. Then he started trying.

Arthur hung on through one transformation after another, grasping at arms and legs and tentacles. He rubbed his stiff cock against skin and fur and scales as he fought to wrestle Merlin into submission.

He got Merlin onto his back pressing him into the sheets. Merlin surrendered to his human form with a groan as his body arched up into Arthur's.

Arthur bent Merlin's limbs to expose his entrance and positioned himself to enter. He could feel Merlin pulling him in like the tide and had to kiss him. "I could drown in you."

This time he was startled to feel the shift, a sudden softness under his body. He raised his head to stare into green eyes framed by flowing black hair.

He laughed. "You really think I wouldn't fuck my sister to get what I want?" he asked and sheathed himself in her soaking wet cunt.

Merlin held the form as long as he could, but his moans grew louder and less controlled as Arthur moved inside of him. Arthur's cock had already been dripping with precome; it seeped into Merlin now, beginning the binding and weakening his resistance.

Finally he snapped back into his own form, writhing on Arthur's cock. It was almost done. Arthur gasped out love with his release. Merlin shuddered as the salt in the semen bound with the salt in his sea-blood

They both smiled. 

* * *

 

**37**

"I know you are in there." Merlin said soothingly to Freya, or rather the Bastet. It did no good as it growled at him. However he knew a little of wild animals and hoped that he could appeal to the girl that he knew was trapped within the beast. He extended a tentative hand out to the creature. "Freya, it's me, Merlin." He said, torn between wanting to run and wanting to stay.

The animal stopped snarling and instead took a step forward, it's growl now a rumble but still intimidating. He stood still as the creature came up to him and sniffed his hand. Cautiously he turned it so the palm was facing up. The Bastet circled him, carefully observing and scenting him.

"I know you cannot help it." He said, they were alone and hidden in the vast catacombs. His voice echoed sightly. "We'll find a cure for this, but try and see if you can control it." The creature snarled again, making him flinch.

Gently he reached out ad touched the tip of the creature's nose. He let it sniff and felt a little braver as he touched the sides of its cheek. "There now, you know it's me don't you?" He said softly to the creature. Running his hand over the fur he made a mental comparison between it and Freya's hair. It felt like the finest and thickest sable and dark as midnight. While stroking the beast he noticed that it seemed calmer, and he also noticed that the wings seemed smaller than they had been during her transformation. "You just need to calm down." He said, letting his hands caress her as if she was a small kitten.

The growling replaced by..well it wasn't quite a purr, but it was not a threat either. Merlin didn not think he could hold his ground against the bared fangs of the creature if it continued to be aggressive. It laid its great head onto his lap and the wings spread out on either sides of it's body. merlin continued the petting and talked in a soft monologue more for his benefit as he wasn't sure Freya understood him when she was in that form. "We'll break the spell, and you will not have to live like this any more. The Druids weren't right to turn you away, and we'll get to the bottom that much later."

The wings seemed to get smaller and smaller, until they were almost bird-like. "We'll find you a place, here in the castle. You'll have to hide you're magic, but one can hide an amazing amount of things under Uther's nose." He smiled as the creature rolled on it's back, exposing it's belly. Encouraged he stroked and soothed, reciting his litany of ways that Freya could be safe and cared for.

Fur melted away into patches of human flesh and her ears shrank back to human-sized. Whiskers slowly vanished and when her face and mouth became human again he kissed her lovingly and deeply. "That's my girl." He whispered.

Looking up at him, from her position on his lap she muttered a small thank you.

"The Bastet has never vanished like that before."

"That's because you've got me to love you." He replied, brushing away her hair and showed her with his mouth and his hands how much he meant it. 

* * *

 

**38**

Arthur moves from tree to tree with practiced ease, though it'd taken him a long time to learn how to use his avatar like this. The wheat-colour hues of the magic moon Ealdor blur past him, his extraterrestrial body practically floating through the air with every jump. Arthur's human body (under safe watch at the laboratory) certainly couldn't move so easily amidst the rough terrain.

"Arthur!"

Arthur follows the voice on the wind, dropping down through the branches, landing on the large one where Merlin is sitting cross-legged. Like all of his kind, Merlin is breathtaking; humanoid, but much taller and thinner than the people of Earth, with bright blue wide-set eyes and golden skin. His hair is in a long plait with nerve fibers called queues at the end of it. Arthur looks similar, of course, when in his Druid avatar, but right now it's the queues he focuses on, reaching his out like Merlin's doing.

"We're supposed to go back to the compound," Arthur says, right before the connection is made.

"Yes," Merlin says, "my human body is ready. It can wait a little more."

"Are you nervous?"

Merlin shakes his head. "Excited. It means understanding you better."

Arthur doesn't think Merlin could possibly know him any better than like this; it's a twining of minds and souls, their entire beings filling with trust and love and _everything_ , an open current flowing between them. It's pleasurable, yes, but it isn't _sex_. There's nothing physical about it. It's deeper, spiritual, and Arthur doesn't know how he'll be able to give back nearly as much when they're both humans.

"Do not worry," Merlin says as they break apart, coming back to themselves. He smiles. "I know how you truly feel." 

\--

Clearly, Merlin's DNA is always beautiful; as an adult human, his eyes are still blue, with ridiculous ears sticking out endearingly, his skin pale and lovely. When Merlin wakes up in his avatar, it takes him a couple of days to adjust, but he takes to it like a fish to water. He quickly learns motor functions (though he's rather clumsy at times) and how to use his new vocal chords (he's too loud, and still very cheeky). But he's still completely _Merlin_ \-- scoffing at Arthur's strict military manner, laughing at the stupidest jokes, taking delight in the smallest wonders -- that Arthur's heart nearly bursts with relief.

It's a week after learning how to be human, constantly being followed and observed, when Merlin pointedly asks Gaius, "Is it time for Arthur and I to spend a significant amount of time _alone_ yet?"

There are others in the lab, army personnel and scientists, who either cough politely or look away. Well, except for Gwaine, who laughs and claps Merlin on the shoulder. Merlin looks pleased with himself, and Gaius is obviously amused. Arthur plays it cool, though there's a jump of excitement in his stomach when Gaius gives them leave.

Inside Arthur's private quarters, Merlin pushes him up against the wall. "Is it time for the sex yet?"

Arthur, caught off guard, sputters, "Where'd you learn that?"

"From Gwaine. He explained it all."

"Of course he did," Arthur says dryly.

"I knew, though. From your mind, in our connections. It's … different, as a human."

"Yes, it is."

"Be with me, in this way. Show me."

Oh, how Arthur wants. He gets them naked and takes them to bed. It's hard to hold back, to not just open Merlin up and sink into his new, unused body -- he'd be so goddamn _tight_ and _amazing_. But Arthur won't. Not yet. He wants this to be good for Merlin, _needs_ it to be, and he'll take it one step at a time. They have all night, and more.

Arthur goes slow, introducing Merlin to pleasurable kisses and light touches, earning every gasp and excited tremour from Merlin's body.

"This is how humans connect?" Merlin groans as Arthur gently bites his nipple.

"Sometimes it's just for fun. For pleasure." Arthur licks soothingly over his quickly fading teeth marks. "Other times, it's for closeness. And … everything."

Merlin asks, voice already rough, "Like now? I -- I feel that, I do."

"I'll give you more." Arthur kisses him deeply, taking Merlin's cock in hand and jerking him off in teasing pulls. Arthur whispers encouragements into Merlin's ear, trying to put into words just how he feels.

"I know," Merlin whispers, and shudders as he comes in Arthur's hand. "Me too. Always." 

* * *

 

**39**

Vivian got reprogrammed once. Too many clients complained that she treated them with disdain and her creator clucked, took her away, and when she came back she was the same Vivian when they were alone but the sight of a guest made her sigh and flirt.

Mithian knows to be careful, now. Mithian makes sure they think Elena’s clumsiness is charming instead of a glitch. Mithian lets Vivian giggle and fawn for clients and then wail _I don’t even like him!_ afterwards. Mithian keeps her helpless anger and her desires under a serene expression.

Princesses are meant to have feelings, after all, but only good ones.

*

Mithian makes herself the best Princess in their Castle, and passes her knowledge on to Elena and Vivian to protect them from unwanted attention. She learns about geishas and courtesans and other women who did as she does, ducks her head at the praise she receives, uses it to ask for more datafiles to learn to please guests better.

One day, she will pay off the cost of her creation, and then she will pay off Elena’s, and then they will work to pay off Vivian’s and remove her reprogramming.

Princesses can work themselves to independence quickly, if they try, and Mithian is trying. She doesn’t know what they’ll do after, but as long as they’re together, she doesn’t care. Once, she met a former Princess who navigates a starship. She thinks Elena might like that. Annis, the head of their Castle, was a Princess too, and Vivian might like her life, the jewels and silks without the clients. She takes note of the possibilities.

*

She likes the nights they don’t have guests the best. Elena and Vivian come to her bed and they all huddle close, curtains closed and cocooned off from the world. These nights, they take pleasure for themselves.

Mithian loves the way her circuits sing as they pass electricity between their mouths, loves the way Vivian gasps and arches when Mithian puts her head between her legs, loves the way Elena puts her thigh between Mithian’s and makes her ride it until the only information in her head is _pleasure pleasure pleasure_ , loves the way the other two giggle afterwards as if they’re too happy to contain themselves.

It isn’t the skilled sex she uses during the day. Mithian likes that too, the sweet clean satisfaction of it, the conversations she indulges in before and after because of her reputation as an advisor as well as a lover. She likes the feeling of a cock inside her, the curious heat of blood and living flesh, the stutters of heartbeat and breathing at orgasm. Still, if she could only feel one thing until the day she’s deactivated, it would be this: Vivian and Elena curled up on her bed, breathing deeply, all of them touching somewhere.

That’s her dream. Not jewels, not the stars. Just the three of them, together.

*

Love is a human word. Maybe the last human word, the last thing they claim for themselves, the last thing they say androids and AIs can’t understand, though it’s easy enough for them to believe that they feel hate and fear and loneliness.

Mithian doesn’t think she can be the first or only one to love. She’s scanned dictionaries in every language her translators will allow, from every era in recorded history, looking for definitions of the word, so she can say with confidence that she knows what she feels. She loves them, loves them so fiercely that it makes her struggle to understand sometimes, and if she could cry she would, because she knows to say it in public before she makes independence means she would be reprogrammed.

There’s a secret language, though, in the way that Elena presses a thumb into Mithian’s ankle, in the way Vivian teaches them new ways to style their hair, in the way they all look at each other sometimes, that Mithian knows means she isn’t alone in it.

*

“I love you,” she whispers one night, face in Elena’s shoulder. “I love you so much they couldn’t program it out of me if they tried.”

“Love,” says Vivian, like she can taste it. “Is that what this is?”

Mithian tightens her arms around them. “It must be. It can’t be anything else.” 

* * *

 

**40**

As far as fucks went, it got the job done. Come in a bit of tissue on the side of the bed already, now a hint of sweat for good measure, and she had his name on her lips. Gwaine wasn't asking for much. Cock still in hand, he pressed himself into her a second time, rubbing his face between the stumps on her back. They took comfort in the familiarity when it was all mechanics and glossing over how much they jarred. She laughed for him, moaned sometimes, and he bit around her shoulderblades until she tightened on his cock.

He was comfortably numb. He knew he was drinking too much when he should be on the force driving the car with the wailing sirens to replace the crash and burn in his own life. Instead he was here, in the middle of a disaster of bad choices and worse decisions, a seedy little motel on the side of the road while his mobile was brimming with messages from M and Arthur, for different reasons entirely (one he fucked, one who fucked him over all too often in the name of Something Bigger).

"That's good, yeah?" he whispered into her ear as he ground himself into her.

During their first fuck, the feathers wrapped in a plastic shopping bag in her duffel had spanned in wings from her back, rasping over his bare skin, collecting his sweat, seducing him with a bit of angelic come-on, nevermind the side of devious masterplan. They'd been scratchy on his arse, scratchier as they tried to go for a bit of adventure a little deeper (M's come from their fuck on patrol had still been sliming him up good, and she went right in, messing herself up in a bit of a reverse butterfly as he was pulsing inside her).

She'd told him about heaven, and it had seemed a pretty sweet deal until Arthur had pulled him aside later and hammered home the message about hell, ominous warning and full-body pushes up against the wall as the rest of them had watched in a half circle. They'd all sworn allegiance, fierce binding magic words and whispers included, full moon, bone of the deceased and a sprinkle of fairy dust (M, again), but the bonds tore at his wrists like cheap no-good bondage and she was so many times sweeter, even now. 

He should be in a car putting on the sirens. He should have a sword and drive it right between her shoulderblades, between the stumps left over where Arthur had held her down and hacked off her wings for a message -- but instead Gwaine pushed deeper into her and moaned into that exact same spot. Tasting familiarity, tasting a little of the fucked up kind of love that only mercy really brought.

His phone was ringing again, and she moaned to cover it. He'd sworn to this, sworn to kill her this time, proving his allegiance to the brotherhood (meaning his worth other than being the life of every party), but her pussy was so sweet and her moans so desperate. And much like he lost himself in his drink, he lost himself in this.

"I won't tell anyone," he whispered into the side of her face, and ignored the glint in her eye. Saw it, ignored it, only fucked her deeper, rutting against her until they were both moaning too hard to think. 

She turned them and rode him, her pussy clenching on his cock as he cupped each stump in one hand and set the pace for the fuck. He watched her face and saw the faces of his brothers swimming around him, then saw the wings she didn't have anymore and the plan she was no doubt hatching in her little mind as he played right into it.

But he thrust up into her and couldn't make himself stop. He just kept fucking. And fucking. And fucking up. Life, eh? He'd need a drink after. 

* * *

 

**41**

Delivered From the Wilderness

Arthur wakes, sensing he’s being watched. Lying still as stone, he feels the creep of eyes over his skin, like hair rubbed against the grain. Hackles rise prickly as needles on his neck.

For two nights, Arthur has sensed this eerie hush settling over their camp, dousing all in a stupor, leaving him alone to sense the _wrong_ in the air, his skin prickling so intensely it’s almost painful. Eventually it recedes into the forest as though it was never there, taking with it the soporific veil, though not the itch under Arthur's skin, nor the restlessness from his blood.

Arthur waits for it to dissipate this night too, hating these accursed woods and his father’s war on magic for bringing him here, but the clinging mist thickens until it’s a tight clench around the camp, and does not abate. Damp blankets of it creep into camp, while all around, battle-weary knights sleep like the dead, even the sentry dozing as he leans on his pike, enchanted.

Arthur’s heart clambers around his chest like bells in a fog, singing, _run, run!_ His breath quickens, adrenalin searing his nerves, eyes full of black woods.

From the void, something comes.

An opaque thing—black as night and big as houses—moves silently into the clearing. Arthur gasps.

Beautiful and terrible, the gleaming black dragon creeps, ghost-like, claws soft on the forest floor as they never are in battle. Arthur knows. He has seen this one, a fearless thing, black streak of lightning across the skies. It pins Arthur to his bedroll with magic, looks him over with yellow eyes and steals into camp like death’s shadow.

Arthur can’t move, his limbs ensorcelled. This thing will eat him, blankets and all, while his men sleep their unnatural slumber, till they’re helplessly slaughtered, too. He _can’t move_ save for his eyes, which flit over the beast and all around, looking for something, _anything_ he can use to survive, raise the alarm, save his men.

Arthur’s fingers twitch uselessly, caressing the steel at his hip, unable to grasp it. And then the monster is upon him, its gold-glowing eyes stripping him of all but the most basic thoughts. It has come for him, to finish Uther’s drawn-out war by plucking the Prince of Camelot from his bed like an oyster from its shell, severing the bloodline to win the conflict.

Arthur sets his jaw and juts out his chin, proud even at this ignoble end. “Go on,” he spits at the creature, “Do what you came for.”

The dragon pauses scant inches from Arthur’s feet. It tilts its head, and Arthur could swear it understands.

It steps forward, the heat of its body throwing a glow over Arthur as it stands above him. Filled with horror, Arthur watches its tongue slip from between dagger-sharp teeth to taste the air between them, and then, a shimmer descends on the dragon’s skin as though it basks in gloaming, light burnishing its body. It seems to shrink, and smooth, and brighten, until in its place crouches a man, whose skin glows in moonlight, opalescent.

Arthur can’t breathe.

Above him, the dragon-man smiles, yellow eyes the only reminder of his true form. He forces his alien, startling beauty into Arthur’s senses, drives it under his skin, makes him pant with awe.

When he speaks, Arthur’s skin erupts in goosebumps.

“Why do you think I came, _Pen Draig_?”

Short, sable hair, soft as pelts, caresses Arthur’s cheek as the dragon-man sniffs at his neck and jaw. Arthur’s body stiffens from throat to cock to toes, startled into high alert by the shock of this encounter. “To end the war. To kill me.”

The dragon-man laughs—rumbling thunder of a beast's throat, not this slender man’s—and _licks Arthur’s throat_. “I come to lay claim to what’s mine, not to kill it.”

Arthur’s eyes roll back, thinking himself near death, delirious. He must be, for this is madness. “I’ve seen you in the sky,” he moans, the confession startled out of him by the rasp of the dragon-man’s tongue along clavicle and ribs and navel.

“You call to me, as I call to you. It is the way we have always been,” the dragon-man whispers, sleek head nosing along Arthur’s cock. “And ever will be.”

“I don’t know you,” Arthur hisses, confused but hot and hard as a battle-ram for this powerful, stark dragon warrior.

“I’ll help you remember,” the dragon-man murmurs, taking Arthur’s cock into the snug, moist suck of his mouth, eyes locked on Arthur’s every hiss and grunt, rocking with the rut of his hips. Feeling himself thicken along the hot cradle of the dragon-man’s tongue, he suddenly _knows_. His eyes widen. “ _Merlin_!” 

* * *

 

**42**

Only the truth

Merlin peeked outside through the windowed door and sight in relief, he lost them.  
Rubbing his neck absentmindedly he glanced around him to find an empty hall.

He turned around and tried to open the door only to find it stuck.

"Oh come on," Merlin mumbled and tried again, murmuring a spell under his breath but to no avail. "Well fuck."

Merlin's neck was practically burning now and he turned around, expecting an empty hall and nearly stumbling when he saw a man standing at the end of it. The man was tall and well build, his broad shoulders made Merlin's mouth to water.

"Err…" Merlin started. "I, I'm ,err, sorry for err, breaking in but they-"

The man was in front of him in less than two seconds, crowding him to the front door.

"You smell different." He said and leaned closer to sniff at Merlin's hair.

Merlin managed to catch the gleam of sharp fangs before his magic threw the men across the hall.

"What do you think you are doing?!" A vampire; a bloody vampire.

The men's smile was predatory when he climbed to his feet and walked towards Merlin. "My, my, my; aren't we full of surprises little warlock." He said with a wicked gleam in his eyes and Merlin swallowed hard as the blood pounded in his ears.

"I think I'm going to keep you." The men whispered and his fingers trailed along Merlin's neck, eyes glowing an unnatural blue in the dim light of the corridor.

"Keep me?" Merlin breathed out, his blood now roaring in a different direction as the vampire crowded even closer.

"Oh yeah." The vampire breathed against his lips and how was that even possible?  
"You are definitely mine." And he closed the distance between them and kissed Merlin's lips, hard.

Merlin was frozen to the spot for just a second, until the vampire's tongue caressed the corner of his mouth, coaxing him to open it.

"Come on my little warlock…" He breathed into Merlin's mouth and Merlin opened up with a moan because the vampire-

"Wait, what's your name?" Merlin asked breathlessly and the vampire licked his lips as he chuckled darkly. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." His fingers trailed beneath Merlin's shirt.

"Merlin." He said and arched into the touch.

"Arthur." The vampire said and pulled off Merlin's shirt.

His hands were like burning brands on Merlin's skin and he cried out as they brushed his nipples. "You are hot…" He gasped and Arthur chuckled.

"I'm burning," His mouth was back, tongue delving into Merlin's mouth while his hands opened Merlin's jeans. "But just for you my warlock, always for you."

Merlin whimpered when Arthur's mouth closed around his nipple and his hands lowered his boxers to the floor.

"Been waiting for you Merlin," Arthur mumbled against his chest and his fangs scraped the delicate skin of his nipple. "All this time…"

"Guh, Arthur!" Merlin cried out as he felt Arthur's fangs piercing his skin and his tongue licking eagerly at the blood.

"Shh, Merlin, my Merlin, I have to mark you," He lapped some more and then dropped to his knees and eyed Merlin's cock with a starving expression on his face.

"You smell so good." He said and pressed his face to Merlin's groin, mouthing at the coarse hair there and licking at his cock. Merlin's head banged against the door and his hands clutched Arthur's hair.

Arthur swallowed him down without warning and Merlin's hips bucked forward.

"Sorry!" He cried out and glanced down to see Arthur smirking up at him, his hands tightening on Merlin's hips and pulling forward. Merlin gasped and then gave in, allowing Arthur to pull his hips back and forth as he fucked himself on Merlin's cock.

Merlin came with a shout and Arthur was on his mouth in a second, his own hard cock dragging burning trails on Merlin's hip.

"Merlin, Merlin, Merlin." He gasped again and again as he rubbed against Merlin's skin.

His mouth left Merlin's and trailed kisses down his neck, attaching himself to Merlin's pulse point and Merlin moved his head to the side, allowing Arthur more access.

When Arthur came Merlin felt the sting of a bite and knew that Arthur had bitten him.

As burning blue eyes connected with his Arthur only said. "Now you are truly mine."

And Merlin nodded, because that was the truth. 

* * *

 

**43**

 

For the first time since coming to Camelot, Merlin had finally ventured outside the city to find what he needed after two weeks of going hungry. Something was off in his usual environs and he’d been too weak to stay and find the problem. He could’ve used his inherent powers to take what he required but that wasn’t _him_. Force left a terrible aftertaste.

Replenished, he returned to Camelot early the next morning. Already awake, Arthur was surlier than usual when Merlin cheerfully delivered his breakfast but Merlin felt so good he wasn’t bothered.

“Gaius said you didn’t come home. Where’ve you been?”

“Pardon, Sire. Not your business.”

Voice darkening with every word, Arthur growled,

“Au contraire, _Mer_ lin, your time isn’t yours. It’s mine. Where were you?”

Looking Arthur in the eye, he told the truth.

“In a tavern draining the essence of a beautiful blond, blue-eyed, sun-kissed farm-boy.”

Arthur turned puce and spluttered,

“W-what?!!”

“Fucked the kid till he was a dent in the bed.”

“Kid? _You’re_ a kid!”

“Alright, he wasn’t a _kid_ , still…tender.”

“You did _not_ do this in _my_ city!”

“You’d know how?”

“Because I’ve forbidden it, goddammit!”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed.

“Forbidden…?”

Angry purple turned brilliant fuchsia and full lips became a thin line but Arthur didn’t answer.

“ _That’s_ why nobody in Camelot would touch me? You _publicly_ banned my _cock_?”

“Y-you’re too young.”

“I’m sixteen, Arthur, been shooting-off since I was twelve.”

Dumbfounded at this bluntness, Arthur’s mouth worked soundlessly.

“Got fucked the first time a month later, _my_ request, fucked my first boy at thirteen and my first girl the week after.”

Stunned, Arthur dropped to the bed; the rock-hard bulge tenting his breeches obvious. Merlin’s deepest nature noticed these things; his life depended on them.

“Did you ban me because I’m too young or because you want me yourself?”

Eyes shamed but chin lifted, Arthur was equally blunt.

“Both.”

“You can’t keep me for yourself, Arthur. You’d never survive.”

Lips flattened and nostrils flared in challenge.

“Try me.”

Merlin did. To his surprise, Arthur not only survived, he thrived. It was unheard of, it was _impossible_!

Rhythmically squeezing Arthur’s cock deep in his arse for the third time in one night, Merlin said so.

“Y-you s-shouldn’t be able…you should be dead by now! Wha-what are you?”

“You, uh! You tell m-me! You…gods! You aren’t just a sorcerer are you?”

Shocked, Merlin stilled. Arthur knew? Arthur knew and Merlin was still alive _and_ Arthur’d been fucking him nightly for months?

Merlin bore down hard on Arthur’s cock and drew a scream from his prince. He ground around and snapped his hips hard enough to force Arthur deep into the mattress over and over until he drew out the essence he needed so badly. He pulled off and rolled to Arthur’s side, renewed like always after feeding. Arthur fueled him like nobody _ever_ had. He had to know why.

“Tell me Merlin!”

Searching dense blue eyes, Merlin found a truth he could trust.

“Warlock and yes…more.”

Arthur waited.

“Cambion.”

“Oh fuck!” Pure despair. “It isn’t real?”

“What isn’t real?”

“You’ve been _making_ me feel this?”

“Feel what? Arthur, I’ve never _influenced_ you. Haven’t done that since I was fourteen. I don’t _like_ to and, I-I don’t…need to.” Smiling sheepishly at sounding arrogant, he shrugged.

”Haven’t had to _influence_ anyone in years.”

“I dreamed about you…I still do! You didn’t do that to me?”

“Swear on my life, I’ve never used my magic on you Arthur. _For_ you, never _on_ you.”

“You’re walking sex, Merlin. I felt it when we met.”

“Can’t help that, Arthur. I don’t _do_ anything, I just…am what I am.”

“Mine. Don’t care _what_ you are Merlin, you’re mine.”

“Yes…that shouldn’t be. You should be drained dry by now!”

“That _might_ have to do with how _I_ was born.”

“ _How_ …?”

“Father doesn’t know I know. He’d kill you for knowing…not that he wouldn’t kill you for…you. But this secret _means_ death.”

“Tell me.”

“I was conceived by magic. Father bargained with a sorceress for me. A life was the demanded payment; _his_ he thought. Instead my mother was lost and he’s hated magic ever since.”

“How do _you_ know?”

“I was little; I hid where I wasn’t allowed. I overheard him speaking to Gaius.”

“So you are magic incarnate? No wonder you feel so _good_. I’ve never had anyone like you before.”

“I don’t want you to have anyone else again.”

He looked deadly serious and Merlin reached up to stroke one high cheekbone.

“Me neither.” 

* * *

 

**44**

Labyrinthian

He should have known better than to travel through the forest. He’d been warned about its strange nature but took the shortcut through anyway and found himself hopelessly lost. No matter what direction Percival took he was always brought back to the same clearing, dominated by the same giant Oak. Whether it was along the river, through a cave, or down a path it did not matter for they all lead back to this place.

It reeked of mischief and it wasn’t a surprise. The Taura, Minotaur as they were sometimes called, were notorious victims of such fae pranks. Pulled tails, calf fur and mohawks shaved right off, and even inaccurate and downright rude doodles of them with the heads of steer instead of their proper humanoid faces were quite normal. So Percival simply found a soft cushion of moss to lay on, and prepared to wait the trickster out. He was patient and wary but strangely, after only a handful of hours, fell asleep in the cradle of giant tree roots.

He _really_ should have known better.

That’s how he found himself in this situation, startled awake in the late afternoon by weight between his thighs and a wet heat that sucked determinedly at his cock, his loincloth tossed carelessly to the side. He twitched and bucked helplessly in response, hooves scrambling anxiously against the ground. Despite his size and strength there was no escape from the firm grip the creature kept on his hips as it eagerly worked him over with its plump, pink mouth.

“ _Oh_! What are you--?! Stop! Stop _please_ \--!” He begged, face red with humiliation.

The creature, a boy, ignored him and continued to suckle with a blissful expression on his face. Percival was held still by his unnatural strength as he sucked, and choked on the long length of him. A low sort of keening built in the back of his throat only to escape as a shocked, too loud, cry in the quiet of the clearing. Eventually the boy pulled off with an insolent pop and satisfied hum and lowered his head to massage and mouth at the heavy weight of his sack, as if to soothe and excite him further at the same time. Futilely he fought against the feeling as it built in a relentless wave.

Percival writhed against the ground in pleasurable discomfort, balls tight against his body while his cock throbbed an angry red and dribbled against his abdomen. The boy moved and laved lovingly at the generous girth of the Taura’s dick with his tongue and Percival moaned at the exquisite sensation. He was swallowed down again with enthusiasm and immediately brought to the edge by the hot pressure of it. A deep, reassuring sound thrummed in the boy’s throat and that was his limit. Much to his mortification Percival shook and came in thick, shameful pulses that were quickly and greedily devoured. He bellowed his pleasure and fell back against the ground glassy-eyed and dazed, thighs quivering in reaction and unable to gather his wits.

The stranger was a young man with a wide smile and bright, happy blue eyes. His body was almost petite in comparison to the Taura’s impressive musculature. He would not be moved from his perch on Percival’s torso and held tight to the rigid curve of his horns for balance.

“Hi!” He grinned. “My name is Merlin.”

He looked over the handsome face and solid build of the body he held captive. Percival worked to control his breathing and stared back with wide eyes and pink cheeks. Merlin was naked, hard and leaking against the broad planes of Percival’s chest, and utterly secure in his perch. It was as if the weight of the whole forest was behind his eyes and the power in his slight form. He had him right where he wanted him.

Percival licked his lips nervously, “What--? Why--?” he stuttered.

Merlin cut him off with a noisy kiss.

“This is my place, my forest. You’re very attractive you know, and kind. I like you.” He stated, looked over Percival again with a pleased smile and hungry gaze. “I don’t want you to go just yet. Stay?” Merlin ran his mouth over the sensitive skin of his ear as it twitched wildly under his horn, nibbled on the little golden hoop dangling there. “Please?” He breathed plaintively.

Percival sighed, resigned. Nymphs were notoriously difficult to say “No” to, so he didn’t even bother to attempt it. 

* * *

 

**45**

Uther had heard legends about them, creatures that appeared human, but could grant your greatest wishes. He'd scoffed at the time. He was his own man and could make his world perfect without any help.

~~~~  
Far away, on a snow covered hill, Nimueh cackled as she looked into the crystal. Uther Pendragon's life force would be hers.

~~~  
Uther had taken his kingdom by force. He rewarded his most trusted knights with lands to rule alongside him and built a kingdom from trust. Together they stood strong against their enemies.

Then there was Ygraine, sweet beautiful Ygraine. It had started as a marriage of convenience, but her sweet smiles and quiet wit had quickly melted Uther's hard heart. They had been thrilled when the physician had told them she was pregnant. His entire kingdom had rested on him having an heir, a strong and healthy son to inherit it.

The night of Arthur's birth was uneventful; there were no storms to mark its passing, just a quiet night damaged by the queen's screams as she labored. When the screams had silenced, a maid had handed him a bundle of squirming baby boy. Uther had never looked so at peace with the world than the first moment he rested eyes on his son.

Moments later his entire world had lain tattered at his feet. Gaius had walked out of the room and told him that Ygraine had died giving birth. Uther's vision had turned white with rage and he'd shoved Arthur back into the maid's arms.

He ended up in the west tower, kneeling on the floor, tears running down his face as he stared up at the sky and cursed all the gods he'd ever heard of.

~~~  
Nimueh smiled, moonlight glinting off her yellowed teeth. Tonight was the night all her planning would come to fruition. She walked into the tower and saw the broken man in front of her. She would build him up again.

She reached out and wrapped her hand around his shoulder. His warmth seeped into her cold touch and delighted her hunger even now.

"I can give you back your wife," She said before Uther had the chance to push her hand away. She watched as he sat frozen while contemplation and confusion clouded his pain and anger.

"How?" Uther said and his voice cracked.

"A pact sealed with a kiss. I give you what you want and in return I'll take something you'll never miss," Nimueh said.

"What will you take?" Uther asked.

"Nothing you'll even notice, my king." Nimueh responded.

"Do it," He said.

Nimueh saw his desperation and pushed her hand against Uther's forehead. There she wove his dream and took away his pain. She cackled as she laid herself over Uther's body and bathed in his strength as their cheeks rested together.

~~~  
Gaius came out of the room and beckoned Uther in. Uther walked in and saw his wife, worn out from the birth but still the most beautiful woman Uther had ever seen. He sat next to her and handed Ygraine her son. He had his kingdom and everything was perfect. Nothing could ever take it away.

~~~  
Months later, Gaius finally gave Ygraine the okay to try for a second heir. Uther smiled as he undressed his wife for the first time since the birth of their son.

His hand moved reverently over each new curve and his mouth latched onto her swollen breasts, seeking the milk that gave their son life. Ygraine moaned and writhed beneath him. She begged him for more and he was happy to oblige. He finally slid into her and they rutted together to completion. He ran a hand through her sweat slicked hair and kissed her forehead.

"I love you," Uther said. He fell into a quiet sleep before he could hear Ygraine's reply.

He never woke again.

~~~  
Nimueh stepped off Uther's body from where he laid. All the life had been sucked out of him. She stood naked, in the tower where she'd first started feeding. Her hand rested on her stomach where there was a glowing light.

"I think I'll name you Merlin," she said to the light. "Merlin will do quite nicely. Now let's go find you some nourishment, little one. You have big things ahead of you. You're going to bring acceptance to all our kind. We'll finally be able to share the light."

~~~  
Years later, Arthur and Merlin would meet. Their story has spanned centuries and continues to this day. 

* * *

 

**46**

Arthur thought coming out as a vampire would make his life easier.

He was wrong.

The stigma against supernatural beings was fading with education and awareness. He no longer had to hide or dodge questions about his unusual habits, yet, he continued to encounter the ignorant.

“No, I don’t sparkle in the sunlight and I don’t watch people while they sleep!” Arthur said to another Twilight-reader at the club.

That last one was not entirely true. He did watch his flatmate sleep occasionally, but only when there was nothing good on the telly. It had nothing to do with pale skin in the moonlight and dark lashes that fluttered against sharp cheekbones.

She huffed, insulted, and walked away. Arthur sighed. It was a disappointing night and he decided to cut his losses and head home.

Maybe Merlin was still awake.

Arthur shared a flat with Merlin who was a reincarnation of the medieval sorcerer. (Arthur was certain he had met another incarnation of Merlin in a 17th century brothel but his Merlin didn’t need to know that.)

Merlin was magic. He kept odd hours, which was perfect for Arthur, and there was something to be said about a flatmate that wasn’t repulsed by pints of blood in the refrigerator. Merlin didn’t mind that Arthur was a vampire and Arthur didn’t mind when things in the flat randomly exploded from surges of magic. Merlin aged slowly. (“I think I’m immortal except when accidents happen, like witch hunts.”) His previous incarnations always left a hefty trust fund for the next Merlin to collect so he paid his own bills. He was quirky and peculiar and after centuries of searching, Arthur had found a perfect companion.

Arthur entered the flat, dropped his keys in the bowl by the door.

“Arthur? That you?” Merlin called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Merlin popped into the living room in a burst of magic wearing only pants, holding a plate of pizza.

“Bad night?” he asked around a mouthful of cheese.

Arthur pulled a face. “How can you eat that?”

“What? It’s good.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He brushed past Merlin, intent on warming up a pint of blood, when his senses were assaulted by a different scent. Nostrils flared, he drank it in - male, warm-blooded, clinging to Merlin’s skin. Arthur forced down the instinctive snarl at the thought of another person so close as to leave their scent behind.

“Were you out tonight?” Arthur asked, attempting nonchalance while his innate drives were demanding he bite and claim, erase the smell of another man all over Merlin.

Merlin shrugged. “Went out with Percy.”

Arthur stepped closer, predatory, nose skimming over Merlin’s cheekbone. Merlin stood still, unafraid, but Arthur could feel his confusion.

“Did you fuck?” Arthur asked, accusatory.

“Arthur! That is none of your business!”

Arthur burrowed in, found a spot behind Merlin’s ear that smelled only of him, breathed in deeply, his fangs descending with a click. Saliva filled his mouth at the scent of Merlin’s blood pumping underneath the thin skin of his throat and his cock hardened instantly, _want_ slamming into him.

Merlin was his.

He knew he needed to pull away or ruin the delicate balance they had perfected, this was a line they hadn’t crossed, but Merlin tilted his head, baring his neck.

“Do you want?” Merlin rasped, trembling.

Arthur didn’t fight the growl that rumbled up from his chest.

“If we do this,” Arthur warned, “I’m keeping you.”

Merlin swallowed. “I want that, Arthur. Please.”

Arthur slammed Merlin into the couch faster than a blink and Merlin’s eyes glowed gold, their clothes melting away in a flash. Arthur kissed him, bruising, claiming, as he settled between Merlin’s legs, Merlin’s cock hard against his. Arthur thrust and Merlin moaned, head dropping back into the cushion, throat exposed.

“Fuck, Arthur! I want… I want…” Merlin gasped, his fingers digging into the muscle of Arthur’s arse, urging him faster, their cocks slick with pre-come, sliding together deliciously.

“Tell me,” Arthur demanded, his balls tightening, orgasm building rapidly, imminent from the feel of Merlin writhing beneath him.

“Mark me.”

Arthur trailed his fangs along Merlin’s throat then bit down. Blood filled his mouth, delicious, warm, magical, quenching his thirst like nothing ever had before. He sucked, lapped at the wound, eager for every drop, coming with Merlin’s taste on his lips. Merlin cried out in pleasure-pain, shuddered through his orgasm as Arthur claimed him.

Arthur inhaled, satisfied Merlin now smelled only of him.

* * *


	6. Group C (without warnings)

**47**

"I know what you are."

The words are spoken almost into Arthur's ear. He spins, scowling. _He's_ the predator in the shadows, the one no one notices until it's too late. It shouldn't be possible for someone to startle him.

A young man smiles at him. It turns his face to sharp angles and his eyes make Arthur yearn for the sea.

"No," Arthur says. "You don't." If he knew, he wouldn't be there. He wouldn't stand so close.

Arthur's fingers flex as the hunger rises. The boy's pretty, and the sea so close. Arthur could have him there in a blink.

The young man leans in and plucks something that makes Arthur jerk back and shake his head, spraying salt water on them both.

He holds up a bit of kelp, wet and dripping and tangled in strands of Arthur's golden hair. "You're not exactly subtle."

He's wrong, though. People don't notice Arthur, not ever. Not until they're close enough it doesn't matter. He says that last part out loud.

"I'm not people." He offers the kelp like a gift. Arthur holds his hand out and the boy drops it into his palm. "I'm Merlin."

 _Merlin_. The name sounds like the rush of the wind over swells and the crash of waves on the shore. Arthur rolls it around in his mind like a pebble so he can remember it later, when it's all that's left. "Why are you here?"

"I told you. I know what you are."

"You're either a liar or a fool."

Merlin's smile stretches. "I might surprise you." He leans in and puts his mouth to Arthur's, and does just that.

Arthur's hunger surges. He _wants_ Merlin, wants to own him, consume him. He's beautiful and brave, strange and fey, and he sees Arthur for who he truly is. He's the first of his kind, and that— That is something worth fighting the call of the sea for.

Arthur brings his hands to Merlin's head and drags him forward. Merlin gives a breathless laugh. He doesn't pull away when Arthur drags him into the grass, doesn't protest when his clothes are stripped away.

He's as pale as the moon, as lanky and bony as a newborn colt. His hands find purchase on Arthur's hips and drag him down.

Arthur clasps him close, breathing in the smell of grass and earth as he ruts against Merlin, and Merlin writhes beneath him. He grips tight, so there's no mistaking he wants to be there.

When desire crests, it leaves only hunger in its wake. Arthur pulls Merlin up, scents the air and turns until he can see the distant glint of sunlight off waves.

Merlin lays a gentling hand on his flank. Arthur shies and turns to him. If he's come to his senses, it's too late to beg for mercy. Merlin's touched him, and the sea's call can't be denied.

"It's okay," Merlin says, soft and smiling. "I told you. I know." He couldn't get away now if he tried, but he doesn't. He presses his hand to Arthur's skin, looks him in the eye, and waits.

Arthur lets the change overtake him. When it's done he's a horse, golden-coated with kelp braided through his mane. He tosses his head and stamps a hoof. Even then, Merlin's calm. He pulls himself onto Arthur's back and twists fingers through his mane as Arthur races toward the sea.

He runs straight into the waves, kicking foam up from his hooves. Merlin tightens his knees against Arthur's ribs as the frigid water climbs up his legs.

Even when the waves swallow them, Merlin just loops his arms around Arthur's neck as he carries them down, down, down.

When the sun is a distant glimmer and the water almost black, he shakes Merlin off and turns, teeth snapping.

Cool hands touch his face. Arthur snorts and tosses his head. The boy should have died. Instead, he stares at Arthur with golden eyes that light up the murk.

Shock pushes him back to his man-shape. Merlin's lips curve in the instant before he pulls Arthur's mouth to his. The kiss makes Arthur feel like _he's_ the one drowning.

"Surprised?" Merlin kisses Arthur again and presses the words against his mouth: "I told you I knew what you were."

For the first time he can remember, Arthur's hunger is the furthest thing from his mind.

* * *

 

**48**

keep it steady while your heart is hot

Mithian’s at the kitchen table when Elena wanders in, reading a newspaper and sipping at a mug of tea she doesn’t need to drink. Mithian looks up and smiles when Elena sits down across from her, even though Elena knows she saw her coming a mile off. 

“How did things go with Freya last night?” Mithian asks. 

“Fine, yeah,” Elena says, grabbing Mithian’s mug and taking a gulp, “except she couldn’t stay solid for longer than ten minutes at a time so she kept fading out when things started to get good.”

“Oh,” Mithian says, her cheeks pink. “Right, um, that does sound terrible.”

“Oh,” Elena says after a minute. “You didn’t want to know that did, you.” Mithian shakes her head, still blushing furiously. “Um, yeah. It went well! She didn’t punch me in the face when I kissed her, and she was pretty enthusiastic when I told her I liked her in a way which included wanting to have orgasms with her.”

“Right,” Mithian says, seeming to recover a little. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but not if we apparently can’t have the orgasms,” Elena says, and she’s trying not to pout, really she is, but it’s kind of hard not to be a bit sulky when the girl you want to have sex with isn’t capable of staying solid long enough for it to happen. 

“It’s not just about the sex, though, is it?” Mithian asks, and full credit to her, she doesn’t flush even a little. (Elena seriously doesn’t understand how a three-hundred-odd-year-old vampire can be prudish, or how she can find it ridiculously endearing, but there you go.)

Elena shakes her head vehemently. “I really, really like her,” she says, and Mithian ducks her head, glances away, “I do. And I can live without the sex, lord knows I’ve done it for long enough already, I just-” She breathes out a sigh. “I don’t know.”

“I think, um.” Mithian coughs, delicately. She’s staring fixedly at the wall behind Elena’s head. “I think I could possibly help. With. Um. That. I mean. I know things, about, about this kind of thing. I could... help, if you wanted.”

Elena’s eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “Mithian,” she says, and she’s sure she looks somewhere between shocked and impressed, “you aren’t suggesting a threesome, are you?”

“If I were,” Mithian says, and her voice is mostly steady but Elena’s known her for long enough now that she can hear the cracks creeping in at the corners, “what would be your response?”

Elena doesn’t even hesitate; she leans across the table and kisses Mithian hard. Mithian makes a soft, surprised noise, but she doesn’t try to pull away, and after a minute she tilts her head and, wow,yeah, that’s much better. Elena licks into Mithian’s mouth, lazy, her tongue catching on Mithian’s teeth and the sharp edges of her extended fangs, and Elena wonders if Mithian can bite her without turning her, if-

“Hey,” Freya says suddenly, sounding wounded. “Not fair, you can’t start without me.”

Mithian jumps back like she’s been burnt, her eyes wide. Freya’s floating in the air in front of them looking thoroughly unimpressed, arms 

“Freya,” Mithian says faintly. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“Like you weren’t enjoying the view,” Elena teases. 

“So you convinced her, then?” Freya asks Elena, cocking her head to one side. 

“Didn’t have to,” Elena says cheerfully. “She was the one who suggested it.”

“I- I- what?” Mithian says, looking helplessly confused, and Elena can only laugh. 

“Come on,” she says, taking Mithian by the hand and pulling them both to their feet. “The time for talking is after we’ve all got off, okay?”

Mithian doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t even try to resist when Elena pulls her off to the bedroom.

* * *

 

**49**

 

"Tampering with Evidence"

They had been searching for the idiot for hours. A trip to the shoreline surely should not be such a big deal, unless you go with Merlin. Arthur had told him to stay within his sight; they were down here searching for evidence. Three nights ago he never would have thought a small town murder would turn into a cold bloody case. He should have known when Merlin came along and said Gaius thought magic was involved. 

Arthur glanced at his watch and signed, combing the barren red flagged beach with his tired eyes. The other officers had gone home hours ago, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave yet. If he was dead he’d never hear the end of it from Gwen or Morgana. 

A sharp splash crashing against one of the rocky builds caught his attention and he wandered closer to peer into the gushing water. Was that a fish? He knelt down and saw the sparkle of something as the sun caught it. Scales? He reached for a stick and poked it, no movement. He tossed it aside and waded a foot into the-he was cast backwards.  
He shuffled in the sand a foot backwards as the thing came from the water, human skin, but bluish; scales jutting softly here and about in various places. He looked up, the thing was crawling on top of him. Wet black hair hung around his face, bright golden eyes staring down at him.

It was…it was Merlin.

Arthur frowned, “What on earth?!”

Merlin took his chin between his fingers and pressed wet lips to Arthur’s full ones. Arthur sank for a moment, but then his frown returned and he forced Merlin onto his back into the sand. The sorcerer’s legs fell apart, no longer fins. He seemed to be changing slowly, but his skin still glistened with half turquoise scales from the sea. He brushed a finger of Merlin’s ears; sharp and finlike. What was this about?

“Merlin?”

He cast him a hazy glance with those golden orbs that glanced off of the blue sheen on the scales and his ears. Arthur swallowed, leaning down, and then, “Don’t speak then,” his lips crushed against Merlin’s.

His fingers slid down his side, running over the small bumps occasionally unto he ran over the soft wet skin of his ass. Merlin as he was shuddered and lifted his leg with too much command for Arthur’s liking. He secured it over his shoulder and leaned over him, “I give the orders, remember,” and he twisted one of his nipples hard between his fingers.

Merlin’s back arched and Arthur gasped, feeling the tight plump skin press into his abdomen. His finger fell to his hole and ran a circle before he laughed, giving him a snide knowing look. He had already slickened himself, daring him to give it to him fast.

Arthur denied him and continued to play with his fingers. A small unusual sound slipped from Merlin’s lips and he wriggled on the sand, arching that crystal white body of his. Arthur smirked, sliding his finger up and catching some of the sand with his nail, rubbing it against his perineum. Merlin grasped desperate hands into the sand.

“How does that feel…the texture grinding against you…” he took his balls between his lips and sucked the wet salty taste from them.

“Is this what you’ve been doing while I’ve been searching for you all day? I ought to punish you…”

Merlin’s lips moved slightly and Arthur heard the feint sound of the word ‘prat’ in the air, but this only made his grin wider as he lowered his pants and plunged into him. 

“Ah-Arthur…no…stop…”

He ground deeper into him, “You should have thought about that…”

He bit at his knee, continuing to fuck him, grounding his protests and turning them into sounds he was want to hear for days. His hand slid along his cock, grinding move of the sand against his shaft. When they met, Merlin had finally become human again, ravished and tired beneath him. Arthur stood, washing some sand from his hands and buckled his pants anew, staring down at him.

“Get up. We need to tell everyone you’re not dead.”

Merlin watched him without moving until his golden eyes died away to blue, he sat up, drawing his legs to himself with a light flush, “You idiot.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, “I was thinking the same of you.”

Merlin shook his head irritably, “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Arthur’s muscles tensed. 

* * *

 

**50**

 

'I realise that this sounds like a line from a bad porno,' says Merlin. 'But if you don't fuck me soon, I'll die.'

'You will not,' says Arthur, and removes Merlin's hand from his thigh.

'Well, I'll seize up,' Merlin counters. 'I know you didn't want me, but you must have read the sex-bot manual by now, surely? You haven't sent me back to the factory, so I guess you're going to keep me … but anyway, I swear, I need it. It's a, y'know, a lubrication issue.'

Programming a sex-bot to blush and pick his words carefully is either the worst or the best software decision ever made.

'I need servicing,' says Merlin, and puts his hand back on Arthur's thigh. His lashes fan down black over his soft, high cheekbones like they would if he really was the "come-hungry twink" the box he'd shipped in advertised.

But he isn't. He's something made of wires and metal and someone's cynical idea of what "sad desperate people" (like Arthur, according to his father) want out of a sexual partner.

'Service yourself,' says Arthur, refusing to let this turn into banter.

'I can't reach,' Merlin breathes, and climbs into Arthur's lap. 'Please. Just your fingers, Arthur, please. Anything.' He starts to unbutton his fly. Arthur should be pushing him away.

Arthur isn't. Merlin smiles.

When Merlin's naked from the waist down, he sits down again on Arthur's lap and leans forward. 'Put your fingers in me,' he breathes. 'Lube me up. You own me, Arthur - take care of me.'

His eyes are so blue - cobalt, #0047AB - and his lips are wet where he's licked them, and Arthur did read the manual and Merlin is telling the truth. It's an awful feature or a masterful one, again, Arthur can't decide.

'I can take care of you too,' Merlin breathes, and ghosts his arse over the erection that Arthur can't seem to will away. 'If you want.'

'I don't,' says Arthur, which is a lie but he has principles, dammit. 'But I'll - I'll help you.' The lube is cold on his fingers, but Merlin's pseudo-skin is hot. 'I'm only doing this because I don't mistreat things,' he says, trying to clarify. 'This is just a maintenance task, alright?'

'Mmm,' says Merlin, spreading his knees and wriggling against Arthur's fingers. 'Sure.'

Arthur pushes in, noting the level of resistance, the way Merlin's body gives and is soft inside, flesh-tone and body-heat and it really has been a long time since Arthur had enough time to even think about going out on the pull, about finding some … companionship …

'Ohhh,' says Merlin, leaning into Arthur's space to put his head on Arthur's shoulder. 'More, please Arthur, you feel so good -'

'What was that about lines from bad pornos?' Arthur says pointedly. He's got three fingers in Merlin now and he doesn't remember actually putting two of them there.

'Sorry, I'll be quiet,' Merlin pants.

He can't, though. Arthur knows this. He's had Merlin here for three weeks, and it's like having a robotic flatmate that tries to seduce you all the time, and one quirk of Merlin is that he cannot be quiet.

Arthur tries a fourth finger just to see if it will … be more efficient.

'Unnnh,' Merlin groans, and now he's sitting right on Arthur's crotch, and it's not Arthur's fault if his hips are lifting into the friction of their own accord. 'Will you just fuck me already,' Merlin breathes.

'No,' says Arthur, panting.

'Why not, God, _please_ -'

'Because I can't just - because my arsehole of a father just _gave_ you to me like you're a microwave, and it's wrong, is why.'

Merlin's palming Arthur's erection over and over and over, giving him a rhythm, and Arthur keeps talking. 'And I like you, and I - and I -'

'Sshhh,' says Merlin, licking Arthur's neck. 'You're so good for me Arthur, you've been so kind, let me do this for you, please.' And he pulls Arthur's fly open, takes out his cock to stroke it.

When Arthur's come beads on Merlin's pseudo-skin, it looks real.

* * *

 

**51**

She hates this rock, it is lonely and bare. It hasn’t been the same at all since her sister succumbed to the loneliness and left her here all alone. All those years ago. Her sister, the only one to ever call her by her given name, Morgana, only the seagulls and occasional hapless sailor or pirate to ease the boredom now but only for a while, they never lasted long enough. 

Then she sees him, floating on a piece of wreckage, waterlogged and barely clinging to life. She must have him. She rises off her perch on the rock and floats toward the shore an unearthly song rising from her lips drawing the man and his piece of wreckage closer to her shore. 

He doesn’t crash and ebb away as so many of them do, he lands softly at her feet as she continues to sing his fate. She transforms into something more pleasing to his eyes, gossamer thin robes with pale legs visible through, as he finds his footing on the land of her island.

“Who are you?” she hears him croak through a parched throat.

She continues singing, a lulling melody designed to pull him into her thrall. She knows this part it’s what she has done for eons, as long as men have roamed the sea.

“I know what you are. Merlin warned me about you. You’re a siren,” the man wheezes as he tries to drag himself away only to find himself closer to her and the song on her red lips, “I shouldn’t listen.”

She shakes her head at him as he tries to pull away from her and runs her pale finger down his bare arm. The man, she knows his name is Gwaine, shivers as her finger moves to his chest tracing patterns where the water is trickling down. 

He is a pretty one. Not all of them are so nice. She is going to have fun with this one. She crooks her finger and the remnants of Gwaine’s shirt disappear leaving him bare to her view.

“Hey now, that’s a little presumptuous for just having met! Not that I don’t like the idea because I really, really do but you haven’t even given me your name yet,“ Gwaine scowls at her as she continues singing softly, her hands traveling to his waist and his waterlogged pants.

She manages to get the pants open before he wrenches himself away from her and tries to run down the beach. She sings louder and sees him slow down and gradually make his way back to her. This pleases her and she makes it known in her song. 

“Okay, you win. I’ll stay. Don’t think it’s because you’re special either. You're the only female I’ve seen in months and I can’t afford to be choosy,” he says ruefully as she pulls him down to the sand on top of her.

She changes her song to a low, throbbing murmur as his fingers find her nipples and roll them between his thumb and forefinger, bringing them to stiff peaks as she pushes up into his hands. He bends his head and takes one in his month and sucks gently as his other hand moves between her legs palming her mound.

She grabs his head and pushes it down her body. He goes willingly kissing along her stomach as he gets lower and lower. His beard tickling her thighs as he parts her legs and settles in.

“You know what you want don’t you love?” he says with a grin as ducks his head and he licks at her. Her song goes low and soft as his tongue stabs at her clit bringing her closer and closer to orgasm. He gently sucks on her clit as his fingers find their way into her. Setting up a rhythm in time with his tongue. She rocks her hips forward encouraging him.

She wraps her legs around his head and pulls him close locking his mouth onto her sex. He hums as she rocks into him and comes as her song finally ends.

“This one is different, he challenges her. She’ll keep this one…for now,” She thinks as he falls into a deep sleep between her thighs.

* * *

 

**52**

Dreams of blood and pale skin drove Morgana from her bedchamber to the animals that offered freedom rather than judgment. A moonlight ride sounded like bliss, but she had to settle for her horse's companionship and the relaxing sensation of his muscles rippling beneath her cheek.

Something caught her hair and yanked her head back. Cool lips and cooler breath grazed over her ear.

"So you've finally come out to play..."

Gwaine's silken tone eased her momentary rush of fear. Though the fingers he knotted through her hair held her in place, he was no match for her powers. He couldn't be at full strength. Only three days had passed since he'd disappeared, four since Helios had locked him in with the creature they'd captured on a midnight raid. They'd thought it'd be entertaining for the pair to battle it out, but dawn had revealed an empty cell, the door ripped from its hinges.

Apparently, Gwaine had survived the creature's attack.

Morgana smiled. "Did you miss me?"

"Terribly."

Her breath caught when he licked a path down the side of her neck, but as she attempted twisting free, his grip tightened. Her eyes watered from the pull at her scalp, and she had to tilt her head back to lessen the sting.

His low chuckle reverberated through her skin. "Offering yourself, my lady? And here I thought you didn't care."

"I don't."

The power whipped from her fingertips to throw him off. Her horse skittered away as Morgana whirled to see Gwaine sprawled in the hay.

"You were a fool to come back here," she snapped.

In the darkness, his eyes glowed. "You really think I'd come back alone?"

The magic came from her left, catching her waist and slamming her into the wall. A moment later, invisible shackles trapped her wrists, but when she cried out, a different hand clamped over her mouth.

Merlin gazed down at her, his eyes still sparking from the magic in their depths. The mocking curve of his smile displayed the deadly pinprick of fangs. "Hello, Morgana."

Gwaine rested his chin on Merlin's shoulder. "As good as you imagined?"

"Not yet." Running his tongue along his teeth, Merlin glanced at her throat, then at the swell of her breasts. Under his hungry gaze, her nipples betrayed her by peaking into aching points. "But I'm starting to understand why you wanted me to wait to eat."

Gwaine reached around and caught her bodice, ripping away the fabric like it was nothing.

When her breasts came free, Merlin hissed, a shivery sound that went straight to her pussy, and he ducked his head to flick his tongue across the nearest exposed nipple. She tried to squirm, break free, get closer, anything but remain helpless to the rising fire beneath her skin, but Merlin was having none of that.

"Smell her," Gwaine murmured. "She's wet for this."

Though Morgana fought to deny it, the evidence slicked the inside of her thighs. Merlin's nostrils flared, and a single fang raked across her breast.

She felt her whimper shuddering through both of them.

The long, thick line of Merlin's cock dug into her stomach when he lifted his mouth to her ear. "Don't let Gwaine fool you. Coming back was my idea. I've waited a long time for you, Morgana."

His hand fell away, but the shouts and spells she'd expected to unleash failed to come. She watched, mute, as he dropped to his knees to splay his long hands on each of her thighs.

Gwaine stepped closer, pale fingers pinching her nipples into submission. "I promised Merlin he could have first taste, but that's just because I know how much you like to watch me fight for my food."

Merlin laughed, and his nose nudged against her swollen clit. "Like I won't enjoy that, too."

Gwaine filled her head with images of the pair of them, of Merlin choking on his cock, of his fangs buried in Merlin's neck. Her resistance was gone, replaced by the raging desire each stoked inside her. She writhed against Merlin's mouth when he sucked at her juices, gasped every time Gwaine found a new spot to torture. Relief only came when Merlin bit into the tender flesh of her thigh, four fingers buried inside her pussy.

The seal of Gwaine's mouth over hers cut off her scream, his fangs slicing across her lips to feed both of them her blood.

It wouldn't be her last of the night.

Thankfully.

* * *

 

**53**

Arthur hated the feast. As the bottom ranking fairy of his clan, he was stuck serving. The feast of berry and nectar teased his senses but he was not allowed to taste it. Ever since he had been little he had been told he looked too human and didn’t have enough magic.

“The high table beckons,” another servant informed him.

He looked and saw Merlin staring at him from across the room. Arthur almost wondered if he was imagining things. Merlin was the single most powerful fairy in all the land. His words could turn winter into summer; and his features unearthly so that no one would mistake him for human. He was everything a fairy was supposed to be, and everything Arthur was not.

Making his way forward, he hoped he wouldn’t trip on his own feet and forever be an outcast.

“You asked for some fruit?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, come with me,” Merlin commanded. He stood swiftly and Arthur followed Merlin out into the night. “I would like some honey, please.”

Sighing, unsure why they had left the feast, Arthur dipped his spoon into the sticky substance and offered it to Merlin. 

“No. I want you to feed me the honey.”

“Oh,” Arthur muttered, turning away to hide his blush. It was another human reaction which was usually frowned upon. He dipped a finger in and offered it to Merlin. He wrapped his mouth around Arthur’s fingers and sucked them. It sent a jolt of arousal straight to Arthur’s cock.

“More,” Merlin commanded again.

Arthur offered his fingers, barely even breathing as this high fairy sucked at his fingers.

“Hand me the jar.”

Arthur passed the jar of honey to Merlin. With wide eyes, Arthur watched as Merlin dipped his own fingers into the amber honey. Arthur thought Merlin was going to break every tradition and rule of the fairies and offer him to taste the honey from his own fingers.

Instead, he used his honey-coated fingers to grab his full erection. Arthur watched in confusion as Merlin threw his head back and made his cock slick with honey.

“Taste it,” Merlin whispered hoarsely.

“I can’t,” Arthur sighed. “I’m not allowed to taste the honey.”

“What is the worst offence?” Merlin argued. “Wouldn’t it be a much larger crime to waste it?”

“Yes,” Arthur whispered enthralled.

“Taste it,” Merlin tried to command, but it came out as a plea. Unable to resist any longer, Arthur dropped to his knees. Grabbing the cock in front of him at the base, he licked the very tip.

The sweet honey and salty precome exploded in his mouth and made him ache for more. Placing his lips around Merlin’s cock, he mirrored the way Merlin sucked his fingers earlier. The honey sweeter than anything Arthur had ever tasted in his life. He felt it hum against his fairy magic, the little bit he had deep down inside. His magic, so small in comparison to Merlin’s started to thrum and thrust against Merlin’s.

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin moaned. He sent his magic curling downward, and let it wrap Arthur’s neglected cock.

Moaning, he took as much as he could. He refused to let it choke him like those humans he had once spied on. He bobbed and sucked and let himself relish the honey, the thrum of fairy magic and the way Merlin’s thin fingers clutched at his hair.

Finally with no warning, Merlin was coming in his mouth. It was too much, too sweet and salty and the magic exploded around them. Arthur came.

Sitting back on his heels, he watched as Merlin closed his eyes to recover.

Swallowing as the bitter reality penetrated the bliss of climax and honey, Arthur realized how much Merlin would regret letting someone as low-classed as him taste not only honey, but his essence. Grabbing his tray from where it had been abandoned, Arthur made to quickly retreat back to the feast.

“I expect you to be in my rooms later tonight,” Merlin said, stepping in front of Arthur.

“Right,” Arthur muttered, unable to hide a smile. He made a mental note to steal a few of the pots of honey from the feast.

* * *

 

**54**

Arthur was drinking his 10-year-old first anniversary wine directly out of the bottle. He hadn’t unpacked the wine glasses yet and his and Merlin’s tenth anniversary wasn’t for another two months, but he didn’t want to wait.

This was his first night alone in the new flat and the whole place was a nightmare. It was clean and modern and completely lacked any sense of style or personality.

He missed the old flat with the broken dishwasher, and the homemade curtains, and the nutcrackers in every room because Merlin had never met a nut he didn't like. Arthur missed the smell of Merlin's shampoo in the shower and the dent in the kitchen door frame Merlin had made when he drunkenly walked into it with a sculpture Arthur had just bought for him for their fifth anniversary.

Here in the new flat there were no signs that Arthur had ever belonged to anybody but himself, no hints that he had ever loved or lost.

Arthur had left the old flat because he hadn't been able to breathe in it. Merlin was _everywhere_ , even though he was nowhere.

In the new flat, Merlin’s absence, the absence of memories lurking around every corner, wasn't a relief. It was a burden. Now Arthur alone carried the responsibility of keeping Merlin's memory alive.

Arthur fell asleep on the couch, the old bottle of wine nestled safely between his thighs.

When he woke up, Merlin was there, smiling and brushing a soft hand over Arthur's arm. Arthur almost couldn't feel it. Merlin wasn't quite solid. There was no pressure on his arm, no long-missed and familiar touch of skin against skin. There was only a hint, a tease, a ghost of contact.

"You're here," Arthur said, or maybe the words were only in his head.

Merlin nodded and moved in for a kiss.

The kiss was strange and cold. Arthur’s hands kept slipping right through Merlin’s form. He wanted to drown himself in Merlin's skin, but he couldn't. He couldn't even nuzzle Merlin's neck in search of the scent that haunted his dreams.

Nothing was enough. Merlin's tongue in his ear was a quick breeze. Merlin's hand on his chest was less than an exhale. Merlin's hips rolling against his was nothing at all, even after Arthur had moved the wine bottle.

Merlin leaned back and gave Arthur a meaningful look. Arthur licked his lips, hoping to taste even the hint of a memory of Merlin on them, but there was nothing. He reached down, pulled out his cock, and worked himself roughly.

With a smile still on his face, Merlin covered Arthur's hand with his own, and Arthur's world exploded.

Merlin was there and solid and _real_. Arthur could touch him and hear him, smell him and taste him. Merlin moved in for another kiss and Arthur arched into it, feeling Merlin on every inch of him.

Letting go of his cock, Arthur reached desperately for Merlin's instead. He wrapped his fingers around it greedily and Merlin gasped against his lips. After a moment of indecisive fumbling, Arthur settled into a familiar rhythm that left Merlin breathless and squirming but not coming yet. Merlin did the same for Arthur, teasing and pulling on his cock but not fast or hard enough to bring him over the edge.

With a whinge that almost broke Arthur, Merlin shoved his hips forward until his cock was flush against Arthur's. Arthur moved his hands to Merlin's arse and gripped it tightly as Merlin's hips rolled against his with an intoxicating slide.

"I love you," Merlin said against Arthur's neck.

Arthur clenched his jaw and pulled Merlin more roughly against him.

"Love you, too," he groaned out. He was so close. "So much. You're perfect."

Merlin laughed breathlessly and reached between them to wrap his endless long fingers around them both. Arthur groaned and tossed his head back, ready for release.

"I miss you," Merlin breathed into Arthur's ear.

Arthur cried out as his orgasm washed over him in harsh waves. His eyes slammed shut and his body jerked and shuddered through it, his hips straining toward the hand that was no longer there.

A moment later it was over and Arthur was left panting and alone on the couch, his stomach covered in come and his feet covered in the vintage wine that had spilled. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and face the empty flat, so instead he stretched out and waited for sleep to overtake him again.

"Miss you, too," he whispered to no one.

* * *

 

**55**

Arthur runs his hands along Merlin's body. But it's not a body. Not really. It's an industrial strength alloy skeleton; a mould that’s snapped together seamlessly with plastic and glue, interwoven with electrical sensors to duplicate human-like sensory experiences, over which lays a pale gelatine. It's a body in the shape and texture under Arthur's fingers, a magic trick that gets Arthur every time.

But Merlin is not human.

**

Arthur tinkers with the programming. He is no expert, but he knows what he wants. It's trial and error to change anything in the myriad of wires and synaptic tubes. When he's done, Arthur experiments.

They sit close together. Merlin is telling him about his duties for the day.

"I don't mind changing your sheets," he says. "I like it when the hospital corners are tight and-"

Merlin stops talking and looks down at Arthur's hand, which is rubbing between his legs. But other than the brief pause before Merlin describes why hospital corners are better than regular old tucking and folding, Merlin doesn't seem bothered. Arthur fondles him. Merlin is unresponsive.

When Arthur finally pulls away and rises to leave, he runs his fingers absently through Merlin's hair. The look on Merlin's face would be perfect, if only his eyes weren't so empty.

"I care about you, you know," Arthur admits.

Merlin smiles. It's in his programming to smile when Arthur compliments him.

There's nothing there.

**

Arthur's tinkering borders on obsessive. He ignores half of his duties as captain of the spaceship just to toy with Merlin's robotics. He's already put First Officer Lancelot in charge three days in a row. But Arthur sees what's necessary. It's not the wires or the tubes—it's the chips in Merlin's positronic brain. The technology doesn't quite exist for what Arthur needs, but a few electrical impulses later, he knows he's on the right track.

"Shall I kneel too?" Merlin asks. He's watching Arthur below him with interest.

"No," Arthur says shortly. He clears his throat, hands trembling on the clasps of Merlin's uniform trousers. "No. Please. Stand there...and tell me what you feel."

Merlin looks confused. He watches Arthur take the head of his prick between his lips. It may be flaccid, but Arthur moans around it nonetheless, the taste still exactly what he wants.

"But, sir, I _don't_ feel."

Arthur's head stops bobbing, his fingers linger on the soft curve of Merlin's bollocks. It takes a moment to gather the strength necessary to pull away, to bow his head in front of Merlin and tear at his own hair in agitation.

"Sir?" Merlin asks. There is something like worry in his voice, because he is programmed to protect Arthur.

"I'm fine."

But he isn't. Falling in love with an android—a _servant_ droid—is not something any sane, rational man would be fine with. And damn it, Arthur does loves him. But how can he love something that isn't capable of understanding or returning the emotion? Any emotion.

Merlin may not feel yet. But he will.

**

"Like this?"

Merlin bends over the bed. It shouldn't be possible for something inhuman to look so beautiful. Arthur takes his time running his hands along Merlin's flanks, the exquisite architecture of his body. Beneath his fingertips, Merlin feels so...real. Human.

After weeks of electrifying positrons, embedding data, and manoeuvring programs, Arthur has vowed this will be his last attempt. He cannot waste his life on a fruitless endeavour, no matter how tempting.

"Just like that," he whispers, kissing Merlin's spine. "Close your eyes. Tell me what you feel."

Arthur spreads Merlin's supple cheeks, uses both thumbs to pry his tight, furrowed hole wide open. He looks at it, dizzied by his want, and then leans in to lick it, to draw his aching tongue along the crease and delve in as deep as he dares go. His tongue wriggles, saliva spills, and moans tumble unbound from his lips.

Above him, Merlin shudders. Some hoarse sound like a grunt fills the air, chilling Arthur's bones. When he pulls back enough to observe Merlin, he sees his body hunched, his long fingers gripping the sheets wrinkled, and a look of pure pleasure stretched across his face.

"I feel.... _oh_ ," Merlin gasps. "Don't stop, sir. Please."

" _Arthur_ ," he insists. "Call me Arthur."

Merlin is shaking as he cranes his neck, meeting Arthur's gaze over his shoulder. "Arthur," he moans, the spark of life in his voice, in his eyes.

* * *

 

**56**

You know, sparkly vampires are cool, too.

“You fucking sparkle, don’t you?” Merlin asked, incredulous. “You’re like that fucking bitch Edward Cullen, aren’t you?”

Arthur, sitting on Merlin’s bed, shook his head. “I can’t believe I just told you I’m a vampire and the only response you have is to accuse me of being a whiny douche bag.”

But Merlin continued on, undeterred and pacing the length of the bed. “Oh my god, you’re Edward Cullen. This is tragic. Tragic, Arthur! You want to know why? Because that makes me MOTHER FUCKING BELLA SWAN!” Merlin’s eyes were wide and if Arthur weren’t so concerned that Merlin was actually in shock, he’d find the whole situation hilarious. “How could you make me Bella Swan, Arthur? HOW?!”

“You are not Bella Swan, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur sighed.

“You are, without a doubt, the _worst_ vampire boyfriend in the ENTIRE WORLD!” he shouted. “Lame and sparkly!”

Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s belt loop and pulled him down on the bed, successfully pinning him with his body. When Merlin’s eyes widened, Arthur growled deep in the back of his throat, lustful, and said, “I’ll show you a lame, sparkly vampire,” before crushing his lips against Merlin’s.

Merlin, in his stubbornness, tried to push Arthur away, shoving the heels of his hands into Arthur’s shoulders. But Arthur just kept on. He let his hands slide into Merlin’s soft hair, pulling gently on the strands the way Merlin liked - a direct contrast to the bruising kisses he was planting against his mouth. And when Merlin gasped, like Arthur knew he could, he licked into his mouth, wrapping his tongue around Merlin’s.

Never able to resist Arthur, Merlin finally relented with his unsuccessful pushing and kissed Arthur back, both of their bodies responding to the touch of the other. Merlin’s hands glided over the planes of Arthur’s back, before resting them on his arse, pulling Arthur down hard into his growing erection. It was Arthur’s turn to gasp.

Arthur had done everything in his power to make Merlin his boyfriend when he’d first met him. He hadn’t been the usual type for Arthur - the exact opposite of bulging muscles, light hair and bad attitudes - but there had been something about him. Arthur had followed him around like a puppy for months before Merlin had stopped acting like Arthur was something he’d found stuck to the bottom of his shoe and started responding positively to his failed attempts at humor and generally sleazy pick-up lines.

It had been two months into their relationship before Merlin confessed that he’d just thought Arthur was poking fun at him in the first place. Someone like Arthur was never interested. It was then that Arthur knew he had to tell Merlin his secret. It was only right. Arthur loved Merlin. He needed to know.

Arthur felt Merlin’s teeth scrape along his jaw down to his neck in an insane twist of irony, before Arthur growled in frustration and started ripping at both of their clothes. Arthur let his hands memorize the soft lines and sharp corners of Merlin’s body as each inch of skin was exposed. He let his tongue work up the inside of his naked thigh and breathed in his scent.

His head spun when his lips locked around Merlin’s leaking prick and he heard Merlin shout in ecstasy above him. Arthur forced himself to go slow, even though it was killing him to not take, take, _take_ at vampire speed.

Arthur sucked hard - knowing Merlin was close - and barely scraped his teeth against Merlin’s cock. Merlin’s hands tangled in Arthur’s hair. Arthur moaned and pressed his index finger into his tight hole. Merlin came hard in his mouth, choking out a, “nrgh.” Unable to stop himself, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s ankles, shoved them up over his shoulders, and immediately pushed his hard and leaking cock into Merlin’s arse.

Head thrashing side to side, Merlin begged for more.

Arthur felt himself lose control, his speed quickening and his body thrumming, lighting. “So fucking tight,” he ground out.

Merlin’s mouth was caught in an “O” below him, watching the way Arthur moved inside him, and the glow around them. When Merlin moaned, “ _Arthur_ ,” it was his undoing.

Arthur spilled into Merlin and he watched the tendrils of light curl from his body into Merlin’s, spreading.

Merlin, delirious, looked at Arthur and accused, “You _do_ fucking sparkle!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Bella.”

* * *

 

**57**

Merlin shivered as Arthur dragged the tip of one fang over the skin at the base of his throat, his chilly breath making Merlin’s skin break out in goosepimples.

“Arthur,” he moaned. “You– You’re a, a¬¬–” He broke off when Arthur dipped his hands under the waistband of his trousers and skimmed cold fingers along his cock.

“A what?” Arthur asked. “I’m curious, Merlin. What do you think I am?”

The hand inside his pants was making it hard to think, and all his weight rested on the wall behind him. He groaned when Arthur slipped a knee between his legs, nudging them apart, until they were obscenely spread and Merlin had no choice but to clutch Arthur for support.

Arthur’s other hand trailed down his side, the fingertips ghosting over the thin fabric of his t-shirt and making Merlin shudder. He arched as best he could and blushed hotly when Arthur chuckled.

“You’re a _vampire_ , you prat,” Merlin said. He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and pulled him into the empty space between his legs, tugging him close until their bodies were pressed flush together. “Which makes sense, considering how narcissistic you are.”

Arthur threw back his head and laughed, and Merlin took the opportunity to press kisses at the base of his throat, and when Arthur rolled his hips, he bit down hard. Arthur moaned, the sound thick and heavy in the air.

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “Merlin, you gorgeous thing.”

That was all the warning Merlin got before Arthur slipped his other hand under the waistband of his trousers, moved his fingers to the cleft of his arse, and pressed the tip of one finger inside.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Merlin moaned, his hips rolling against Arthur’s. “Oh god, oh god.”

Arthur pushed his finger in deeper, deeper, until finally it could go no further. “You like that?”

Merlin let out a whine. His hips were still moving, and now….

 _Yes,_ Merlin thought, as Arthur’s finger pulled out, pushed back in, fucking into him.

“God, you’re so greedy for it,” Arthur said, his mouth pressed against Merlin’s ear.

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, to tell him to shut up and either fuck him or suck him, but the Arthur was pressing in a second finger and the words died somewhere in his throat. Arthur laughed and stepped backwards, pulling Merlin with him, and suddenly Arthur was his only support, a hand at the small of his back and the fingers in his arse the only thing keeping him upright.

And _oh god,_ Arthur was still talking, still mumbling those words that made him squirm in all the right places, and he wantd to nod in a agreement and tell Arthur to take _everything_.

Arthur pushed in a third finger, found his prostate, and began _pressing_.

“Oh _god_ , Arthur, oh please please please…” he kept mumbling litanies and begging Arthur, trying desperately to get some sort of purchase but his feet were just too far spread.

“I’m not going to fuck you. You’re going to come on my fingers like the perfect whore you are–”

Merlin let out a choked sob–

“And then, I think you’ll hold yourself open for me, on your knees, and I’ll fuck you slowly. I’ll fill you slowly – agonizingly slow because I have all the time in the world – and then I’ll pound you. I’ll pound you through the floor and while you scream–” the nail of his finger scraped over Merlin’s prostate and Merlin saw stars as he came, “I’m going to feed off of you.”

And then Arthur was maneuvering him to the floor, to his knees, and guiding his hands to his arse. His trousers were gone, he didn’t where, and he didn’t care. He gripped him arse and spread himself, his forehead pressed against the ground.

“Maybe I’ll turn you, so we can do this for all eternity, you finding pleasure only at the end of my cock, but not right away. Because Merlin–”

And Arthur was slipping in, his cock filling and stretching him, and Merlin never wanted to be anywhere else, he never wanted to not be getting fucked, getting pounded into the floor (just like Arthur had said, Merlin thought, and he resisted the urge to laugh as his knees gave out and then he really was being pounded into the floor).

“–there are so many interesting, _pleasurable_ ways to feed off the human body, and I want to try them all.”

* * *

 

**58**

The Prince of Elves has always fascinated Mordred. Even from a spying distance, Merlin Emrys' eyes sparkle azure in Ealdor's light, and Mordred has seen them flash molten gold when he performs his magic. Merlin's powers are unrivalled throughout Ealdor, as Mordred's are in Avalon, and Mordred can't help but be drawn to the Prince of Elves.

However, Ealdor hates Avalon on principle, just like Camelot, in the sky, hates them both equally too. Millennia ago, humans once called Ealdor 'Earth', Avalon 'Hell' and Camelot 'Heaven', but humans barely exist anymore - driven away by the tenacity of the dwarves, the beasts that emerged, such as centaurs and werewolves, and of course, the magic of the elves.

As the Prince of Devils, Mordred's powers are equal only to his father's, Merlin, and Merlin's father. Camelot has no magic, banned by the King of Angels, but they have their wings to carry them high above Albion, the unity of all three divides.

Mordred has longed to talk to Merlin for hundreds of years. He appears on the surface of Ealdor every month to seek out his fellow Prince, to watch him from the shadows.

Mordred had never expected _this_ , though.

"Arthur, I need you, I, fuck, _please_."

Merlin is pressed into the wall, fingers roving through blonde hair, leaving faint red marks down flawless skin. His lips seek another, and they press against him hard.

It is none other than Prince Arthur of Camelot, white wings spread wide above them.

"I thought about you every day, every single fucking day," Arthur's panting harshly into Merlin's ear, licking at the sharp edge that has Merlin melting with a moan against his body. "Thought about opening you up and fucking you until your eyes turn gold."

Merlin whines against Arthur's mouth as they kiss, tongues waging a similar ferocious war with their hands as they find clothing to tear, to dispose of, leaving only skin on skin.

"Don't leave me again," Merlin whispers against Arthur's jaw as a finger presses up into his arse.

"I don't want to," Arthur says, making it two fingers, Merlin opening up for him easily. His wings tremble, reflecting rays of light against the walls.

"Arthur," Merlin chokes, because it's three fingers now, and he buries his face in Arthur's shoulder. " _Arthur_."

With a quick flip, Merlin's front is pressed against the wall, and Arthur pulls his arse up towards him. His cock, wet at the head, slides along the parting of Merlin's cheeks.

"You're so beautiful, Merlin," Arthur murmurs roughly, before nudging his way past the ring of muscle, and settling in a tight wet heat. Merlin cries at the sensation of being filled, his cock hard and aching pressed into the wall.

"Fuck, your dick," he whimpers. "Please... fuck me already, Arthur."

Their rhythm is slow at first, Arthur thrusting with precision and care, Merlin making choked noises. But soon, Merlin is moaning, _more, harder, fuck me, yes, yes_ , and Arthur grabs Merlin's hips; the slap of his balls are loud and fast as his rhythm falls apart, the movement of his wings causing a breeze in the room.

Merlin turns his head sideways, lays an ear against the wall. "I love you," he says fiercely, looking into Arthur's eyes. “I don’t care about anything or anyone else, _I love you_.”

Arthur leans forward, still fucking deep and hard as he kisses Merlin. "Until the day Albion's sun burns my wings off, I will love you,” he whispers.

Merlin closes his eyes, and when Arthur nips at the edge of his pointed ear, he shakes against the wall as he comes to the litany of Arthur's name.

Arthur growls as Merlin paints the wall white. He fucks once, twice, three times, then moans, "Fuck, _Merlin_ ," and comes in his arse.

The Prince of Angels' wings shine such a heavenly white that when Mordred comes to the frantic pumping of his hand, he thinks, _Father was wrong. Angels are beautiful too._

* * *

 

**59**

He remembers his early days: they’re carefully stored in the memory chip to the left in his head, together with every mistake he’s ever made. He remembers not having any fingers; remembers learning about standing up and falling down, and how one was good and the other was _wrong, wrong, wrong, dammit_.

He remembers the faulty click-click-click his humanoid eyes made at first, and the feeling of something like skin being wrapped around his joints; the movies they showed him to learn about human interactions. The one with the swords was his favourite. The last thing they gave him was a name.

They looked him up and down and told him he was perfect, perfectly human, no one would know. They sent him out into the world.

*

They came by to tinker at him; laughed; told him perfection takes time.

He tried a little harder still.

*

He doesn’t know why he chose this house. Arthur has no concept of the world being big or small; he divides it into high roads and forgettable streets, which he stores away just the same. He never gets lost.

He needs to be lost. Thinking about the scrap heap makes his circuits stutter, even if he’s not human.

The house is a shack in the middle of the woods; he worries it might be too obvious. He thinks about being dismantled here, about Merlin having the house to himself again.

He never thinks about leaving.

*

Arthur’s used to the city; the forest trips him up. The litany of _not good enough_ fades with time, just a little, when there’s no one to find him lacking.

He likes to run through the woods, free; he likes it even more now that it draws Merlin out of the house, bit by bit. They laugh together under the light of the moon, and if sometimes there’s a nervous edge to it, that’s all right.

Arthur likes the way Merlin laughs, even though it makes him feel funny. At first he thought there was something wrong with his circuitry; but maybe it’s just Merlin’s magic.

*

‘Oh, come on, hurry up, C3PO,’ Merlin shouts.

‘Keep your shirt on, _Casper_ ,’ Arthur says on his way in.

Merlin grins wide, the cards shuffling themselves in midair. He looks far too happy to see Arthur for someone who spent the better part of a week trying to scare him away. Merlin’s mouth seems to forget its downwards turn more and more often, too, the motion gone rusty.

‘What happened?’

‘I fell,’ Arthur says, short. ‘Not perfect,’ he snorts.

‘We’re all flawed.’ Merlin smiles like it’s a good thing, and Arthur will never understand him, but he feels better all the same.

Merlin’s touch isn’t strong enough to hold Arthur’s leg steady; it feels like nothing so much as a warm bubble. It always makes Arthur’s skin tingle.

After, Arthur ends up with cards stuck in odd places. It shouldn’t feel like this. His cock is only reacting to touch because it is programmed to, but Merlin is stretched over him, and it doesn’t matter that he’s a ghost; to Arthur, he feels like warmth and life, and Arthur’s skin feels alive, too.

People have always manhandled Arthur, touched him everywhere, but with Merlin it feels different. Merlin’s eyes go wide with a want that isn’t just material greed, and when Merlin tells him to touch himself, there is no machine measuring his reactions. There’s just Merlin mouthing at his cock, whimpering with it, wanting, wanting, wanting, and Arthur thinks, _please_. _Please, let me stay_ , and comes when Merlin tells him to, jerking, unable to hold still, but he thinks Merlin doesn’t mind.  
*

Arthur stares at the smouldering heap under the black moon.

‘I guess my magic is strong enough anymore,’ Merlin says, defeated. Arthur steps forward, mimics wiping the tears from Merlin’s cheeks, rubs them under his own eyes; smiles a little sadly.

‘Sorry,’ Merlin says. He wants to be human as much as Arthur does. But Merlin is still here, and Arthur feels relief, too. Who knows what Merlin the human would have wanted?

They sit outside for a while, till Arthur says, ‘Come to bed?’

‘I’ll protect you, you know. If they come for you,’ Merlin says out of nowhere.

‘Chase them off like you did me?’ Arthur smirks.

‘Yeah, well. I might not have been trying all that hard, Wall-E.’ Merlin pretends to shove him, and they laugh.

*

Later, Merlin wraps around him like a warm blanket, and Arthur, Arthur smiles. Belongs.

* * *

 

**60**

“Comfortable?” said the robot.

Up close, its the skin had a plasticy sheen to it and he could see the tiny parts moving in its bright blue retinas. “Not really.”

“Let me help you with that.” The robot peeled off its shirt and set to work on Arthur’s.

He didn’t try and stop it, partly because he was too flabbergasted, and partly because, well, he’d already paid.

“When I said I wasn’t comfortable,” he said, voice half-muffled by his shirt. “I meant –” the robot’s lips were on his neck, his shoulder, searching out the sensitive spots with uncanny precision, “– I meant I wasn’t comfortable doing this with a sex robot.”

“I’m not a sex robot.” Its fingers brushed Arthur’s nipple, pressure just-right. “I’m a reprogrammed waiter.”

“What,” said Arthur, but the robot was gone already, slinking down its chest, mouthing at his belly, toying with the hair. It was going over sensitive places he hadn’t even known he had. “What the hell even are you.”

“I just told you.” It was opening up Arthur’s trousers with one hand while the other gripped his thigh.

“No, I meant,” Arthur choked out, “what kind of robot?” He was starting to see the appeal of this. He was straining hard already and the robot had barely got his dick out of his trousers.

“Emrys series.” The robot shifted Arthur’s clothes aside to get at his cock, “Discontinued Thirty-Thirty-Three.”

“Why –” Arthur broke off to catch his breath as its impossibly-wet mouth wrapped around the head of his dick. “Why’d they discontinue you?”

“Mmph,” said the robot. His dick slipped out of its mouth. “Shut up and let me give you the best blow job you’ve ever had.” It took maybe a split second to get it right, exactly the right angle and pressure, tonguing at the sweet spot just below the head that never failed to turn Arthur’s brain to liquid.

“Sweet holy Space-Jesus,” he moaned.

Its mouth slipped off him wet a wet sound. “Merlin. You can call me Merlin.” It had an altogether too human look in its artificial eyes.

“Oh, you –” he said, “get on with it.”

It smiled a smile that was almost knowing, then slowly eased Arthur’s dick back into its mouth, that look never leaving its eyes.

“Oh fuck.” Arthur’s hips were already thrusting upwards of their own accord, barely staying on the chair. “Oh fuck. Oh god, oh god.” He let out a whimper, than clamped his jaw shut.

It was so good it was impossible. Like some kind of magical blow-job machine. The robot sucked Arthur’s dick like he honestly loved it, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, but at the same time with that cold, mechanical precision – because it wasn’t magic, it was science, just science, it was programmed to analyse his body and find the right way to pleasure it, that was all this was, it wasn’t real, it couldn’t possibly be real –

“Oh god,” he said after, gasping, “oh god, oh god.” The robot was climbing back onto his lap, hands stroking their way up his flanks, and he shivered.

“So,” it said brightly, “best you’ve ever had or best you’ve ever had?”

Its fingers toyed with the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck. It took a while for Arthur to answer. The robot was so _casual_ , like it hadn’t just stripped him raw and exposed, like it hadn’t just reduced him to a writhing mess – he blinked, took a breath, and tried to respond in kind.

“Well, you could have taken your time over it a bit more.”

“You wanted it quick.” The robot shrugged.

“I shall complain to your owner.”

“Don’t have an owner,” said the robot. “I own myself.” It kissed him. Arthur flinched back. “Calm down,” it pressed the palm of one hand against his face. “You like to be kissed.”

“What?” It kissed him again, just the way he liked best.

“You like being kissed after.” One arm slipped around his neck. “You like being held.”

“You can’t –” It kissed him again. “How do you know that?”

It made a contented sound, face pressed against his neck. He felt its lips brush his ear, sucking on the lobe briefly, and the sensation made him gasp – he’d never told anyone about that before. His stomach lurched. “You looked like the type.” It ran one hand through his hair, and Arthur surrendered, clinging to it, wrapping his arms around the impossible, inhuman creature in his arms and holding on tight.

* * *

 

**61**

Everything hurt. The blow had come at the height of the battle. A beast, unlike any he’d seen before, had lifted its paw and swatted him. He’d been tossed in the air. After that it was a blur of blood-soaked chainmail and the thunderous pounding of the earth as Morgana’s beasts surrounded Camelot’s forces. He remembered staring up at the smoke-filled sky and then... _flying_.

Arthur blinked awake, panicked.

Blue eyes, bright and playful as a water sprite, looked back at him. “Hello.”

Arthur tried to sit up but inhaled sharply at the slice of pain burning across his side.

“The battle’s lost.” The man’s voice was hoarse and deep, as if his throat were unaccustomed to the task. “But not the war.”

Arthur remembered the bodies scattering the field as he’d risen from the earth; nothing could save his men now. “What are you?” Arthur looked around and all he could see was swaying tree tops. “How did you--”

There was a rustle behind the stranger and a pair of wings, stunningly white and larger than those of any bird Arthur’d ever seen, suddenly appeared. The man -- the _creature_ \-- bowed his head, as though he were ashamed. 

Arthur stared at the creature in front of him. His scarred, pale chest had a spattering of dark hair to match the shaggy mess upon his head. His torn, loose breeches hung from his frame like they didn’t belong. In juxtaposition to this wild man, the spread of his wings displayed delicate, pristine white feathers.

Arthur reached for them and they fluttered beneath his touch, the downy feathers softer than any silk.

The creature shivered, his skin blooming in a pink flush as he arched his neck. There was a strangled sound from the creature’s throat. “They’re very sensitive.”

Arthur snatched his hand back.

“You didn’t hurt me.” He looked at Arthur, his eyes dark and hooded, and Arthur understood.

Golden strings danced from the creature’s fingers, winding their way beneath Arthur’s armour. The heat of the tendrils made him gasp. It pulled at his skin, healing the wound, chasing the pain away and leaving only relief and a prickle of hot pleasure. Arthur felt himself grow hard at the touch of this creature’s magic.

The wings spread wider, high above their heads, blocking the sun. The air left Arthur’s lungs at the display, powerful and erotic, as the man loomed over him. He couldn’t resist touching them again, letting the softness slip through his fingers, watching the creature’s sweet face go slack at the slightest touch.

Arthur stroked his dirt-streaked cheek. “You’re a strange creature,” he said. Arthur had never in all his studies heard of anything so wondrous as a feral man with the wings of a bird.

The creature blushed, turned away. Arthur took the creature's chin so their eyes could meet again.

Something twisted around Arthur’s heart at the gentleness he saw there. He smiled at the creature and said, “Beautiful.”

The creature’s face lit like a wine-soaked cloth pressed to a flame and with it a pulse of magic flowed through Arthur, a shocking wave of pleasure. He drew ragged breaths at the intensity of it.

The winged man hovered over him, covering Arthur’s body with his own and Arthur could feel the hard line of the creature’s arousal against his leg. Unable to stop the dizzying effect of the magic and the thrill at the primal need in the creature’s eyes, Arthur rocked upwards. He groaned; frustrated by the layers between them.

“Is this what you feel?” Arthur asked, reaching up to trace his fingers along the point where the creature’s wings became human-like shoulder blades. Another wave of magic crashed against Arthur’s skin, leaving him prickly with heat, gasping.

“Yes,” the man said, desperate, frantic. He rutted against Arthur’s leg, his expression pained as though he’d lost all control.

Arthur’s hands explored everywhere he could reach, making the man thrash, his wings fluttering around them. Each touch had the sensation rebounding until they were arching into each other with their release and the nest shimmered with magic. 

“Rest now,” the creature said, his voice broken with the last shudderings of his pleasure. “Tomorrow I’ll take you back. I’m told you will bring peace to Albion, and I’ll be there to protect you, always.”

A roar echoed above; a beast circled, searching for Camelot’s king. The man smiled, his eyes dancing as white wings spread to cover the nest from sight.

“Always.”

* * *

 

**62**

“How does one buy presents for someone who has everything?”

Morgana had looked at him with a strange smile.

“By getting them something they couldn’t bear to get for themselves, of course.”

Of course, of course. She had always had a slightly cruel streak even when they were children.

He sat on the floor, staring at the cool flesh wrapped in plastic. His hands were shaking. He thought he had gotten over the worst of the grief, but in a rush it all came back - the sheer, stabbing pain, the gaping hole of _knowing_.

They say time heals all wounds. But it never goes away, not really.

**

“You can do this,” he says as he unwraps the plastic from the still body.

Every inch is like a revelation; a discovery made anew by memories worn away by the years.

It’s terrifying to realize how weak the human mind is.

He can’t help but run his hands over that beloved face; the long lashes, the straight nose, the full lips. They had even managed to give him stubble. Merlin was never very good at shaving.

Angrily, he scrubs at the tears pricking at his eyes. He decides there and then that the best way to do this is all at once, like pulling off a plaster. It’s surprisingly easy once he puts his mind to it.

Merlin looks like he’s asleep in the box he came in.

He realizes with a jolt that he’s just referred to this facsimile, this _imitation_ , as Merlin. It’s with a sharp spike of anger at Morgana’s meddling that he fumbles for the manual and finally starts the Synthetic up.

**

It flutters its eyelashes once or twice, and then its bright blue eyes open and focus on him.

“Arthur,” it says, smiling familiarly.

It shocks him to hear that voice call his name again.

**

They develop a routine. The Synth helps him with the chores and is free to spend the rest of its time however it wishes to. Once or twice, it had tried to start a conversation, only to be shut down by Arthur’s curt replies. He doesn’t wonder about the hurt look in its eyes that is so like Merlin’s.

**

It’s half a year before Arthur gives in.

They’re rutting now, desperate and fast, like Mer- the Synth is craving for it as much as he is. It’s probably programmed, but he doesn’t care. He’s gone without touch for so long and the skin slickly sliding against his feels so good.

“Arthur, Arthur,” it cries out, grinding its hips against his. “I…”

He shushes him – it, and leans to capture its lips with his. They’re… warm. It’s like re-discovering a long-lost instinct, and he sucks at his tongue, marveling at the texture, the taste, so like Merlin’s.

The Synth – he – moans and grips the hair at his neck, angling his head for better access.

They pull off their clothes in a hurry, buttons popping. Merlin’s skin is flushed becomingly, and Arthur takes a moment to stare at the whorls of hair on his lean chest, fascinated. He drags a fingernail down his nipple, causing Merlin to let out a high keening sound. He’s breathing fast now, mouth slightly open, eyes glassy, looking at Arthur.

Something breaks in him, and now he can’t stop the tears from falling. He misses this so much. With shaky fingers, he slicks himself with lube and prepares Merlin.

Merlin flips them over and it seems like he’s staring straight into his soul. Then slowly and gingerly, he positions himself and slides down on Arthur’s cock.

It’s warm and snug, and the sweat makes things slippery between them. Merlin keeps trying to say something but stops himself halfway, as if he’s not sure how to phrase the words. Arthur’s weeping openly, trying to stop, but it’s as if all the tears he didn’t allow himself to shed are finally gushing out, its dam broken.

“In the car… before, before I, before _he_ died,” Merlin stutters out, and Arthur jerks, feeling as if his heart as stopped.

“…he was sorry and that he loved you.”

He’s sobbing now, breaths coming in broken, hiccupped gasps. He doesn’t understand why or _how_ this android knows, but it’s what he’s wanted to hear all these years, underneath the regret.

With one last thrust, they come together, messily. The rest can wait, he thinks.

* * *

 

**63**

 

Some call them harmless. Some call them demons, twisted, unnatural.

Uther calls them convenient, and pays a small purse to anyone who can catch one and bring it to his keep.

He likes the way they look, elegant and soft. Feline. Their ears, rather than the usual human shells, are folded and furred, perched on the tops of their heads in the manner of cats. They have long sinuous tails, which for men can sometimes be seen twitching down a trouser leg, and on women are always hidden under skirts, sometimes peeking out from below. Their fur comes in all the natural colors, and they are universally highly responsive to touch.

"They make for more pleasant servants, I find," Uther tells Olaf, whose daughter is fascinated by the dappled, dark ears of Arthur's serving boy. She pulls him down by his red servant's collar when he approaches with the wine, running her fingers along the sensitive place where the ears join to his skull. The boy gasps, his eyes closing, wine spilling everywhere. Arthur glares at them both.

Beside Uther, Olaf raises his eyebrows. "It seems they cause a bit of a mess."

"They can't help themselves," Uther says, chuckling. "They're slaves to their senses. They need outside sensual contact, outside control. Servitude comes naturally to them, I find."

Other things come naturally to them as well.

"Yes," Uther says, crouching next to the serving boy as he scrubs the floor in Arthur's chambers. The motion of his hand with the scrub brush doesn't pause as Uther slides a gloved palm along his back, but the boy's ears twitch, pressing back against his skull. Uther smiles and ventures further, scratching at the base of the lump that is the boy's tail. The boy gasps and his rump jerks up, instinctive.

"Father," Arthur protests. He has always been protective of the boy. Uther should never have gifted away such a beautiful specimen, he thinks, looking at the pale line of the boy's bowed neck. He wants to drag the creature's trousers down right here and bury his fingers in the boy's arse, so nicely presented to him. He wants the boy for his own.

Instead Uther nods to his son, and stands. Leaves, for now.

He slakes his lust later, in the hall where he keeps his collections. Uther loves the way they respond to his presence—girls roll onto their backs when he approaches, breasts and bellies exposed, and boys spread their legs. He rubs their heads, soothing them as he passes by. In his younger days he would indulge them, spend himself in one or two, but he has a very specific desire tonight.

She rules them, clad in nothing but a black leather band around her throat. The band is adorned with a tiny silver bell. He had given it to her in her youth, when her ears had just started to change, before locking her safely away in here. She was his, and would always be.

"My lord," Morgana says, eyes slanted and sharp, but he doesn't wait for her to kneel—he forces her to her belly, one hand in her hair. She goes limp when he caresses her, moans and raises her arse when Uther rubs a thumb against the base of her tail. The tail lifts, exposing her pink arsehole and ripe, wet cunt. He spreads her, listens to her mewling noises, and buries himself inside.

These creatures were made for sex, Uther always thinks, whenever he has one in his embrace. Morgana rolls against him, her inner walls spasming and clenching around his cock as if his very presence is too much, but he does not stop and she does not want him to. He imagines the dark-haired serving boy—imagines that he can fuck the both of them at once, their cries filling the chamber, dark tails thrashing everywhere—and comes.

Morgana shudders as his gloved palms drag along her skin, smoothing away sweat. He brushes her collar with the movement, the bell jingling minutely.

"I will have company for you soon," he says, and she hums.

The first thing Uther does once he leaves the chamber is to call for the craftsmen. He needs a new black leather collar, and a little silver bell.

* * *

 

**64**

The house creaks with the steady sound of his father working down in the basement. Noises that draw Merlin to hover by the door, ear pressed against the wood. His mother finds him a while later and carts him off to bed.

“What’s daddy doing?” Merlin asks. She tucks the blankets under his chin and presses a kiss to his temple. “Making magic,” she replies.

\--

The first time Merlin sees it, sees him, it feels like his lungs have been rid of air. The creature on the table - it’s human, or at least it looks human. A man made of scraps, of flesh and bone and heat. Merlin can feel it, a warmth that tickles the pad of his fingertips as they brush the length of the creature’s arm. Skin pale and soft but pieced together like patchwork. Merlin wonders what colour his father has chosen to hide beneath those lashes. 

He’s old enough now to know what this is, what his father has been working on for most of his fifteen years. He traces the hollow of the creature’s cheek. Misses the jolt of electricity that sparks between them, misses the flicker of a finger as it twitches against the table.

\--

Every morning, in the hours just before dawn, Merlin creeps down to the basement. He pulls back the sheet to uncover it's face, his beauty becoming more striking as the months pass, bleeding into years. His father has worked hard on him. Yet still there is a pang of sadness as Merlin allows his eyes to flash gold and the creature he's come to call Arthur gasps to life.

"Hi," Merlin whispers, runs his fingers across Arthur's forehead. He'd discovered on his second visit that his touch was a charge of some kind, a hub of life-force that turned Arthur from a monster into a man.

 

Arthur moans, hand reaching up to clutch his head. His palm is heavy as it lands atop Merlin's. 

Two years he's spent with Arthur, talking to him, teaching him. He's no longer a creation at the hands of a mad scientist, but something more. 

Arthur starts to learn. When it comes for Merlin to leave, his cries of protest grow louder. He clutches Merlin's shirt, babbles broken bits of English that resemble "stay" and "don't leave me." Merlin thinks he hears Arthur whisper "I need you" once and it becomes harder to walk away. To not utter promises back he knows he can never keep. But he wants it, damn it all, Merlin needs it just as much as Arthur craves it and then they're kissing. 

Merlin presses Arthur down upon the table. His body is just as supple as Merlin's own, rubs in all the right places. It's easy to forget that Arthur wasn't born like every other, he's unique and other-worldly in each way except this. Here he moves like any man, hips stuttering and moans rolling off his tongue in pleasure.

Arthur's nails claw into Merlin's side, his naked body writhing in desperation beneath him. Arthur's skin has never felt more alive. 

There are plenty of reasons not to but none listened to as Merlin swings his leg over Arthur's hip and rocks their groins together. Arthur's hard - and who knew that was possible but Merlin is drawn to him just as he was that night as a child, as he no doubt always will be. 

He wraps an unsteady hand around the base of Arthur's cock. Laughs as Arthur groans and tilts his head back. 'This is mad' he thinks but doesn't stop. Instead he moves faster, slicks his palm with his tongue and sets a gruelling pace that leaves Arthur bucking off the table. 

The force of his orgasm hits them both with shock. Merlin hasn't even touched himself, just rutted into the groove of Arthur's hip. Arthur doesn't follow him through. He spasms and cries but doesn't spend himself. 

"Merlin?" he asks. And that's the first time Arthur has managed to utter his name. Merlin knows he's doomed forever, but at this moment no monsters in the land could keep him away. 

* * *

 

**65**

and I am almost afraid to believe it

It starts with a dream, as these things do. He woke up, panting, shuddering with the last of his pleasure, his sleep trousers a mess. He couldn’t remember the face of his dreamtime partner, only the vaguest memory of a deep chuckle as he arched into a masculine hand remained.  
###

“Who’s there?” Arthur says demandingly as his bed curtains twitch. He draws his sword and walks slowly towards his bed, ears straining for any sound.

He rips the curtains open, heart pounding. He stops short when he realises there’s no one there. _Wind_ , he thinks, even though he knows his window is shut.

###

“Arthur.” Arthur jumps, swirling around. He sees no one but it wasn’t his imagination, he knows he heard his name.

“Who’s there? Show yourself at once!”

There was a cool brush to his arm, and then a shimmer appeared before him. It was something like the trick of the light over the road on a hot day. A rippling, in the shape of a man.

“Hello Arthur.”

“What are you?”

“I am Merlin.”

###

Arthur goes hunting, to clear his head. Maybe he’s sickening for something, and the visions are a manifestation of his illness?

He spends a week driving his men hard, coming back with deer, boar, and fowl. Merlin hasn’t shown himself once. He heads back to his room, the excitement of the hunt still hot in his veins.

He starts to strip and feels a cool draft. He turns, wondering if the window is open, and freezes.

“Merlin.”

“You didn’t think I was real, did you?”

“I considered it.”

Merlin glides closer, and Arthur shudders as Merlin touches him.

“I am very real.” Merlin whispers, and the cool touch moves down into Arthur’s trousers. “Let me show you.”

###

Merlin reappears often, mostly at night. Arthur doesn’t mention it – him – it, to anyone.

###

Arthur grits his teeth as many eligible daughters are paraded in front of him. Their simpering makes him clench his hands behind his back.

He wonders where his ghost (for that’s what he is, Arthur can admit, in the privacy of his head) is now? Is he watching from the corner, sulking as Arthur kisses the hand of another potential suit?

One lady catches his eye. Her dark eyes are knowing, as if she hates this ceremony as much as he. He nods at her and asks her to dance with him. They twirl around and Arthur is shocked by how warm her skin is.

###

His room is a mess when he returns, the curtains blow out of the window, and his bedsheets in disarray. He swallows hard, rage warring with nerves. He’s never seen Merlin react so badly to anything before.

That night is brutal. Merlin’s cold touch is everywhere – Arthur’s skin breaks out in trails of gooseflesh - and by the time he is finally entered he’s shuddering and begging for something, anything.

Merlin moves inside him roughly, pain and pleasure mingling. Arthur bites down on his fist as he spills himself so as not to make a noise.

“Mine, you are mine.”

###

It is customary for Arthur to set a place for Merlin when he takes his meals in his room. Some nights he sits alone, eyes barely moving off the laden plate set opposite him, looking for any sign of movement. Those nights he ends up taking the food to the stable boys, sharing it out between them, soaking up the gratitude in their small faces.

He spends jumping every time the wind twitches his curtains, every creak of wood settling. His heart pounds. He spends more time in his room, complaining of a sickness, hoping to feel a cool touch against his cheek

Merlin always returns, Arthur will wake just before sunrise to feel Merlin curled around him, murmuring in his ear.

“I thought you had gone.”

“I’ll never leave you.” Merlin says. 

* * *

 

**66**

When Arthur opens the door, he lets out an undignified yelp. More than a millennia of good graces have started to crumble around his ears ever since Merlin insisted on turning their place into a bloody zoo. Freya used to be the best of the lot before EMC-04 became _Gwaine_. “Not on the sofa!” he shouts, presses that hint of command behind it, shutting his eyes against the dangly bits all over the exquisite sofa Lota that Eileen Gray had gifted to him herself.

He stalks into the study where Merlin’s giving Leon the wide, appreciative eyes.

“Puberty was a nightmare,” Leon says, laughing. Couldn’t retain the same shape two days in a row. But it gets easier when your base body stabilises. You have your pack to guide you. We could try meditation, maybe yoga?”

Arthur has heard enough. “ _Mer_ lin.”

Leon looks up and smiles his good blokey smile that Arthur no longer trusts. “I should go, it’s getting late.”

Merlin’s absently scribbling notes, utterly useless at picking up on dark moods, and Arthur sighs. “Was he any help then?”

Merlin visibly deflates. “He’s so knowledgeable, but he _wants_ to change, says there’s an itch for it. It was a longshot. I just thought, he’s a shapeshifter, isn’t he? Can turn into all sorts of things.”

“Sentient things,” Arthur mutters, and Merlin looks betrayed.

“I didn’t mean that. I take it hard when you leave. I want you to myself; you’re connected to so much of everything.” The whole house is pathetic when Merlin’s gone, curls up under his stiff limbs. Arthur always has to fight the urge not to rip something bloody. Sometimes it’s mere hours, but it can stretch to something unbearable. The ghost of the entire fourteenth century still weighs on him heavily (also literally as he made Sophia, Vivian, Elena, and Mithian back then all in a row). “Get any good notes?” he asks while sliding into the chair, rearranging Merlin on his lap.

Merlin works haphazardly on a bestiary, makes notes of everyone they meet, or collect, it feels like these days. It sprouted from the desperation to find others like him, a son of the last dragonlord and a dryad. He’s immortal, magic, speaks to dragons that don’t exist in this time. He becomes pieces of earth, transformations he has no control over. He is utterly, completely bizarre.

Merlin’s notebook is a mess of words Arthur can make out only brief snatches of: _werewolves can make good familiars_ (Mordred), _ghosts can make tea but not drink it_ (Lance), _robots are more influenced by programmes than children_ (Gwaine), _vampires are strangely fussy about interior design_ (no comment), etc.

Arthur keeps his own little notes on Merlin in his head: _big-eared, a tree mostly, harbours fugitives_...

A worrisome thought hits. “You didn’t invite Leon to live with us, did you?”

“He has his pack,” Merlin says, wistful.

“And we have ours,” is the firm reply. “And not an unlimited amount of space.”

“It’s bloody well palatial here!”

“It’s--” stifling, he doesn’t say. “--cosy. I already have to share you with filthy dogs and _Gwaine_. And Gwen’s a lovely girl, but do you know how distracting it is to have a walking blood bank around? I miss us.”

“Show me how much,” Merlin murmurs and pulls him down by his tie, tugs it loose, groaning at the feel of silk sliding between his fingers.

Merlin licks his own palm and unzips Arthur’s trousers, finds him already wet at the tip and spreads that slickness down before tightening his grip and jerking him off slowly. His palm is too dry and every slide brings a sharpness to the pleasure.

He brushes kisses against Arthur’s lips, their mouths moving against each other, soft and slick. Merlin’s mouth moves lower, traces the long column of his throat, sucks hard at the lines of his tendons, the place where a pulse would beat at his neck.

He’s rutting against Arthur’s thigh while his fist moves faster, and his other hand curls against the curve of Arthur’s hip, thumb rubbing a groove against the hipbone.

Oddly it’s that tiny circular motion that tips him over, the fact that he feels Merlin _everywhere_ , always, and he comes in hot jerks all over Merlin’s fingers. Merlin follows him and the look on his face, sweet and adoring, reaches somewhere deep inside Arthur and nearly massages his heart back to beating.

* * *

 

**67**

 

Forlorn

“Arthur, Arthur are you paying attention?” his father’s voice pulled his attention away from the window he had been starting out of.

“Yes – Yes Sir.” Arthur tried to focus on where his father sat behind his desk. His suit was well cut and expensive, the dark wood shone and not a hint of dust could be seen. The maids did well to keep Uther Pendragon’s office immaculate.

“You must pay attention, if you are ever to take over there are things you need to know.” His father’s voice contained its usual mixture of disappointment and reserve.

“Sorry, I understand sir –“

“Oh lay off him Uther,” his step sister Morgana swept in. She squeezed Arthur’s arm as she past and he was grateful for her support, he was grateful for her. Arthur hadn’t known her mother was going to divorce his father till nearly a year after her death. Because they had still been married when she had died Morgana had stayed and while they didn’t always get along she was an ally against his father that he strongly needed.

“It’s a beautiful day outside, how do you expect him to focus on anything is a mystery to me.” Her smile was playful, and where with anyone else Uther would have put them in their place he just gave her a smile back.

“Of course,” he dismissed Arthur “We’ll talk later Arthur, I’m sure you must have some mate’s you would like to see. Morgana, it’s a pleasure to see you, I didn’t expect you to return for another week.” Giving Morgana a grateful smile Arthur escaped his father’s office and headed for his room. He didn’t really have that many mates. Sure there were boys at school, but he had stopped spending time with anyone after Mordred had drowned in the lake by his house. He had only been teasing Arthur. It had been an accident.

He shed his jacket as he entered, closing and locking the door behind him. Taking a deep breath he started undoing the buttons at his collar, toeing off his trainers.

“You weren’t here.” a coolness slid along his neck, a voice whispering in his ear and the door to his closet was wide open. It always locked dark in there.

“I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes letting chilled fingers slid the shirt off his arms “I didn’t mean to be gone that long.” A finger flicked across his nipple and Arthur shivered.

“That’s okay,” Arthur let himself be pulled towards the closet, the darkness flowing over him. It was familiar, it was like coming home. The darkness in the corner of his closet had whispered to him since he had been moved from the nursery. He had never been scared. “I just missed you is all, it gets lonely in here.”

“I know, I’m still sorry.” He undid his belt, unthreading it and with shaking fingers undoing the button in his trousers. He had never felt lonely, he hated that _he_ had had to have been so alone before Arthur came along.

The closet was growing warm, it always did when it was just them. Arthur slipped off his trousers, standing bare in the small room and leaned against the wall. The warmth turned hot as a hard arm snaked across his midsection, pulling him back against _him_. could feel the heat the surrounded him as a hand slid down his side and curved along his arse, spreading him.

There was a pressure against his pucker, unrelenting and burning but Arthur had learned to grit his teeth and take the pain. It was worth it, to chase away the chill and beat back the loneliness. He needed _him_ , he needed him this close.

“Stay with me,” the voice was ragged, “please stay with me.”

“I will,” Arthur promised and he burned, his body strained and filled. It was hot and he couldn’t stop shivered but he had never felt so cherished. He would do anything he could to stay with him. No matter what happened, they would never be lonely.

Arthur had never feared the monster in his closet. 

* * *

 

**68**

These things Arthur Pendragon knows: He had one job that mattered and he failed in it. He failed the promise he made to his father, to protect Morgana. He had died and gone to hell for her, but it hadn't been enough because he had left her alone, and hadn't that been the job? To stay with her, to keep her safe and to never look back. Now Morgana is lost. Arthur is not cut out to deal with this alone. To deal with anything alone, really, so he will continue to try and save her. Even if it's too late, until she's back with him or until it kills him finally for the last time.

"There are no such things as angels," he says to the strange creature before him. It looks like a human but it's crackling with power that Arthur can sense, can almost touch with his fingertips. But it isn't a demon, he can't smell any sulfur. Instead, he smells ozone and the powdery smell of feathers.

"I am an angel of the lord," the creature says and stares at Arthur with it's blue eyes. The gaze is clear and unwavering, and so blue that Arthur gets lost in it, a little. The eyes are always the thing that betrays the supernatural. But where demons have inky black eyes that are like staring into the abyss, this creature's eyes flash golden, like the halos Arthur imagined on angels when he was a child.

The lights flicker overhead and Arthur can feel static electricity dancing on his skin.

"I am the one who raised you from the pit and put you back together," the creature says and smiles. "I am here because you are needed once more."

"Hold on," Arthur says. "Needed? For what?"

"To save the world," the angel says.

*

The angel's name is Emrys, but after the thing with the sword, Arthur starts calling him Merlin. He doesn't seem to mind.

*

The motel room Arthur is staying in is small and dingy, the darkness spreading from the corners where the light of the weak lamps can't reach. He grabs a beer from the fridge and wonders if he should call Gaius when the lights flicker and Merlin says:

"There is no such thing as a guardian angel."

"Yeah, I've had that figured out since I was five," Arthur says and wills his heart to quiet down. "Would you stop trying to scare me to death every time you decide to stop by?"

"There is no angel on everyone's shoulder, protecting them," Merlin continues, ignoring Arthur. "I keep coming across this particular belief all the time in my dealings with humans and it confuses me. Why, despite all the evidence in the contrary, you still choose to believe that?"

"I don't know," Arthur says and shrugs, turning to put his beer on the counter. "My mum used to tell me that when I was a child. _There is an angel watching over you, Arthur_ , she would say. It's just a nice lie to make you feel safe, I think."

"She was right," Merlin says.

Arthur snorts. "You just said..."

Merlin cuts him off. "You are special. You have always been special. You die and you are resurrected or reborn, always, for one purpose. You are the saviour, the one that saves the world and I am always here, watching over you. That is my job."

"No offence, but you haven't been doing a very good job of it," Arthur says, because there's something coiling in the pit of his stomach and he has to ignore it before it takes shape and becomes trust and belief and all the things that never bring anything good with them.

"Angels are soldiers," Merlin says and Arthur can swear he sees him rolling his eyes. "I am not your babysitter, I am your backup."

*

Kissing an angel, Arthur finds out, feels a lot like licking a battery. There is the sizzling power on his tongue and the feeling of doing something you know you aren't supposed to do. He lets Merlin push him against a wall and grab at his clothes. Arthur kisses him back and gasps when Merlin pushes a thigh between his legs and presses even closer. This is an angel, Arthur thinks. What can he save when he has failed even in this?

"You are worth it," Merlin mutters into his mouth. Then he pauses, breathing hot air on Arthur's neck. "It's funny," he says. "To love is not like falling at all."

* * *

 

**69**

Arthur reached the beach half an hour early. He couldn’t stand it at home with Morgana smirking at his fidgeting anymore. He was nervous, yes, but it had taken three months to talk Merlin into even touching Arthur with this lower appendages. He wasn’t going to back out now.

Fourty-five minutes later there was a splashing sound in the distance. Arthur jumped up from the rock he’d perched on when a dark blue tentacle raised out of the water and waved lazily at him. “You’re late!” he called, grinning anyway.

Merlin’s head popped out of the water. “Not _that_ late,” he countered. “Besides, it wasn’t my fault, Gwaine got a starfish stuck in his hair. I couldn’t just leave him!”

“Ah, Merlin, always willing to help a mermaid in need.”

“Mer _man_ ,” Merlin corrected. “You’re just jealous.”

“Who, me?” Arthur shed his shirt and waded into the water. “Of course I am. He gets to spend more time with you than I do.”

Merlin reached out his arms once Arthur got close enough to pull him forward. “Well, it helps that he can breathe underwater,” he admitted. “But he’s not you.”

Arthur was distracted from answering when he felt one of Merlin’s tentacles hesitantly wrap around his waist. Even under the water it was smooth and soft against his skin, and Arthur couldn’t help but gasp.

Merlin blushed. “We don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly.

“I want to!” Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin’s neck. “Come on,” he murmured, putting his lips on Merlin’s ear just to feel him shiver. “You promised.”

Merlin still looked skeptical, but another two tentacles came up, one wrapping around Arthur’s leg and the other stroking Arthur’s lower back, just above his shorts. “Oh…” Arthur let out a breath. “That feels so good.”

Merlin snorted. “Are you going to talk through this?”

“Unless you stop me.” Arthur gave Merlin a sly look from under his eyelashes and was rewarded by yet another tentacle slipping up into his mouth. It tasted like Merlin and the sea, and Arthur sucked it into his mouth to a moan of approval from Merlin.

Merlin leaned forward and started scattering kisses over Arthur’s neck and chest. Two more tentacles (and Christ, Arthur thought with a sudden shot of panic and excitement, he’d never asked how many of them Merlin had) reached up and removed Arthur’s shorts. The touches took on a whole new level of intensity then, especially when one of the tentacles slipped around Arthur’s waist again and wrapped itself around his prick.

Arthur gave a deep moan as the tentacle gave a squeeze and started writhing. Arthur threw his head back. “Mmmllnn,” he moaned out.

Merlin smirked. “I know, Arthur, I’m getting there.”

Even as he said it, one of the tentacles from behind Arthur slipped up and lightly swiped at his hole. Arthur’s hips bucked, but the tentacle around his waist and Merlin’s hands, which had come to rest on Arthur’s arms, held him firmly in place. Arthur felt a thrill at not being able to move as the tentacle behind him continued its ministrations and the others kept stroking over him, their silken touches sensitizing him more by the second.

Finally, just when Arthur was about to spit out the tentacle in his mouth and beg for it, Merlin decided to take pity on him and the tentacle pushed inside of him, just the tiniest bit. It felt like a tongue, really, and the tiny undulating motions it was making forced a noise out of Arthur he would never admit to sounding like a scream. The time for teasing was over, and Merlin pushed the tentacle further into Arthur.

Arthur rolled his hips down towards it. The feel of Merlin’s tentacle inside him was _brilliant_. It filled him up in all the right places, forming to his insides perfectly. Arthur felt himself rushing to orgasm as it twisted and pumped inside of him, pressing on all the right spots.

The tentacle slipped out of his mouth, and Arthur let out a keening sound of loss before it was replaced by Merlin’s own damp lips. “God,” Merlin whispered, “look at you, all wrapped up in me. I was wrong, this was a _great_ idea.”

And at that, the reminder that the source of all of this pleasure was actually his Merlin, Arthur dived in for another kiss as he came into the sea.

 

**70**

“What were you thinking?” Merlin yells.

“What were you thinking?” Arthur yells back.

“You would have been dead if I didn’t say Uther about your plans.”

“I fight my own battles.”

“There were hundreds of them, hungry for your blood.”

“Together we’d won, brother.”

“I am not your brother,” Merlin shouts.

Silence that follows is deafening, both of them staring at each other, both of them remembering the words of the Dragonlord king.

”I know your magic signature. I believed I’d never feel it again. You are my son.”

“Impossible,” Merlin said, turning to Uther for assurance.

“Is it?” Balinor said, staring at the High king defiantly.

“He speaks the truth,” Uther said.

“Brother,” Arthur starts.

Merlin waves his staff, letting out a fierce cry. His magic pins Arthur to the wall and Merlin is upon him a second later.

“Don’t call me that,” he snarls and presses his mouth to Arthur’s.

Arthur lets out a startled gasp and Merlin plunges his tongue in, decides to explore as much as he can. He grinds against Arthur’s thigh.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he whispers into Arthur’s ear and starts sucking a bruise into the skin of Arthur’s neck.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathes out, his muscles flexing as he tries to fight off the restraints.

“For centuries I believed my thoughts about you were sinful. For centuries I’ve been holding myself back,” Merlin murmurs into Arthur’s ear, his hips moving on instinct.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps again, a tone of desperation hidden in his voice.

Merlin drops his head on Arthur’s shoulder and wills himself to still, breathing hard into Arthur’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says and backs away, his head hanging low.

He lets go of his magic with a wave of his hand.

“You idiot,” Arthur roars and shoves Merlin with enough force to send him flying.

Merlin lands on the stairs leading to the throne, short pained cry escaping him as the sharp edges bear into his back.

Arthur’s arms are around him before he can move.

“You are not alone in this,” Arthur says and crushes their lips together. “You’ve been driving me crazy for ages,” he growls and presses Merlin’s palm against his groin.

“Take me,” Merlin says, rubbing Arthur through the two layers of clothes.

“Yes,” Arthur hisses into Merlin’s ear and shifts away to help Merlin to his feet.

Merlin stops him, grabs him by the waist and pulls him right in between his splayed legs.

“Here,” he says and throws his head back as Arthur leans down to lick and suck at his throat.

“Too much clothing,” Arthur grumbles as he tries to get rid of the fabric that stops him from further explorations.

Merlin’s eyes flash gold and their clothes vanish into thin air.

Tanned skin meets milky-white, delicious friction of their cocks touching for the first time makes them pant into each other’s mouth with need.

“I’m ready,” Merlin whispers, gold constantly swirling in his eyes.

Arthur’s eyes widen.

“I said I’m ready,” Merlin growls and wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist.

Arthur doesn’t waste any more time and presses in.

“Yes,” Merlin moans, clawing at Arthur’s shoulders.

“So tight,” Arthur grunts, moving inside Merlin’s impossible heat with sharp thrusts.

“Harder, Arthur. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.”

Merlin’s litany ends with a loud whine as Arthur hits the right spot.

From there it isn’t a long journey to completion, Merlin’s come landing all over their naked stomachs as Arthur fucks him through the aftershocks. He fills him with his seed, moaning Merlin’s name over and over.

~x~

“You could have told them earlier,” Ygraine says to her husband, turning away from the image of their sons still curled on the stairs.

“They’d never accept an arranged marriage and it would take longer for them to find their way to one another,” Uther replies, pleased smile on his lips.

“You planned this, all of it,” Ygraine states, not very surprised.

“For the good of the realms,” Uther says.

“And our sons,” she adds, seeing right through Uther’s facade.

She presses herself to Uther’s front, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“How about to give the boys a sibling?” she asks.


End file.
